Fighting Fire
by DarkHorseBlueSky
Summary: The war's over, but small flames of rebellion still burn bright –– not only in the hearts of the victors, but also of the new tributes, the Capitol representatives. This is the moment –– the moment when the tables are turned, when the sides are switched, when the rebels will get their revenge. The Last Hunger Games has finally begun...
1. Prologue

**AN: Major spoilers for those of you who have not read the entire Hunger Games series. Yes, that includes Mockingjay.**

**I don't own. Do I wish I did? By the Mockingjay's metaphorical blazes, yeah! Do I in reality? Sadly, no. Sucks for me.**

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**Prologue**

**District 11 Tribute Train, the year of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games...**

Rue had never imagined herself ever being selected as a tribute for the Hunger Games, yet out of the thousands of slips, one of her eight had been picked. There was no way she would ever win. And without her tesserae, her family would slide back into starvation. She was not sad because she knew she would die. She was sad because she knew that her family would die without her to try to prevent it.

She placed her hand on the doorknob that led into what she supposed was to be her temporary quarters on the tribute train. She did not like to call it a room, because it was the size of her entire house at home. Home, she repeated in her mind with a sad sigh. She would never see home again. She just knew it.

With some unnecessary force, she opened the door. Light flooded into the room from the hallway and illuminated a strange scene in front of her. Rue almost screamed, but she managed to turn it into a strangled choking noise. For standing in the middle of the room, facing Rue with an equally terrified expression on her face, was a girl.

Rue stared. The girl was possibly younger than she, but had obviously been living on the streets. Her thin cheeks and dark eyes were hollow from hunger, and she was skinnier than even Rue was. She wore no shoes on her callused feet. Her choppily cut brown hair looked like it had been cut with a knife and fell in front of her face, giving her a feral, wild appearance. In her hand was a tunic, which Rue recognized from the wardrobe and she assumed that the girl had stolen. There was no reason to assume it was for different purposes. The girl's own clothes were little more than rags.

"Who are you?" Rue asked, her voice almost a whisper. She stepped forward, but the strange girl flinched and immediately drew a dagger from a sheath strapped to her leg. Rue froze, then held up her hands to show that she held no weapons. "I won't hurt you."

The girl's dark eyes hardened, and then she lowered the dagger. "Who are you going to call to hurt me for you, then? We're on a moving train. I have nowhere to run."

Rue was puzzled. "No one! I just want to know…who are you?"

"Close the door. Then we will talk about me."

Rue did as she was told, because there was something about this girl. Something… different. She didn't seem like she was from District 11 at all. Her speech was too refined, and her skin too light. The structure of her face almost reminded Rue of the people from the far-off Capitol she had seen on television, but that was impossible. A Capitol girl would never be put in so low of a place.

The girl kept standing, holding the dagger in one hand and the stolen garment in the other. Rue did not feel comfortable sitting in the girl's presence, and the feeling was mutual.

"I am…a runaway," the girl began haltingly once they were alone. She seemed to notice Rue's fear, and she added, "Don't worry. I deactivated all the cameras in this room. Right now they are on a loop, and all they see is the empty room."

Rue did not know what a loop was, or how the girl could deactivate the cameras. She had come to assume that the Capitol was all-powerful, and that nothing could get by them. If a girl no older than she could slip by unseen, who knew what could be done!

"How did you get here?" Rue asked. "And why?"

The girl reluctantly dropped the stolen tunic in her hands and sheathed her dagger. "I told you," she said. "I am a runaway."

"Who…who took you?"

"I never said I was running from any captors. I ran away from my home in the Capitol, and I crashed my plane here. I've been living on the streets ever since."

"You're from the Capitol?"

"Yes. I left last year, and have been trying to survive ever since. This was my first window of opportunity to get back home."

"But why did you leave in the first place?"

"Childlike rebellion. Only I think I may have taken it too far in stealing that plane."

"You stole a plane? How did you fly it?"

"Of course I stole a plane. It's not that hard when your father, a man richer than the president himself, owns seventeen of them and a personal hanger. I've flown them since I was –– "

She froze, her eyes widening. Rue was also silent –– she had heard something outside in the hallway. Footsteps. With the speed of a fox, the girl pivoted on her heel and covered the space of the room in two leaps, diving into the open wardrobe. Her bare foot had just disappeared from view when the door opened, revealing a tall, stocky young man. "Thresh!" Rue exclaimed.

"I heard voices," said her district partner. "Is everything okay?"

Rue hesitated, unsure of whether or not to trust Thresh or not with the secret of the fugitive. He answered it for her. "There's someone here," he said. "A girl, by the sounds of it. Come clean, Rue."

He tried to sound intimidating and threatening, but both of them knew that he wasn't really. "All right," Rue sighed. "I was talking to someone. She's in the wardrobe."

Rue imagined all of the vulgar things that the mysterious runaway must be thinking about her right now. "It's okay," she coaxed, walking to the wardrobe. "We can trust Thresh. He might be able to help you."

The girl's dirty face suddenly poked out of the clothes, and Thresh visibly jumped. "What –– who is she?" he asked, his fists clenched.

"She's from the Capitol," Rue explained, helping the girl out. "She ran away, and she needs to get back."

"Doesn't she know that we're –– you know whats?"

"Tributes?" the ragged girl finished. "Yes, I do know –– and personally, I could care less. You are no more worthy of execution than I am. In fact," she added with a trace of grim humor, "less worthy. I've done some things that, for anyone else, would get them executed or at the very least turned into an Avox."

"She's from the Capitol," Thresh repeated flatly.

"Not all of us agree with the Hunger Games," she countered. "Some of us are…better informed than the other lemmings."

Neither Rue nor Thresh knew what a lemming was, and neither of them asked. However, the strange girl seemed to find it amusing.

"So can we help her?" Rue asked, as if the girl was a puppy they had found on the side of the road. The ragged thief sent the young tribute a look of exasperation, which Rue tactfully ignored.

Thresh sighed and rubbed his temples. "We're already in deep," he muttered, "I guess we can't get much worse than this. All right."

Rue exhaled, but the girl herself still seemed on her guard. "I will take care of myself," she said. "Your jobs are to slip me food, give me a place to hide, and keep quiet about my presence here. Once we arrive in the Capitol, I will find my own way off this metal bucket. The most important thing is that the Peacekeepers do not find me; they have me, under a pseudonym, on file as a citizen of District 11 and will shoot me on sight if they see me trying to leave."

"On one condition," continued Thresh, as if he had not even heard the girl's last four sentences.

"What is it?" she asked, not the least bit fazed.

"Tell us your name."

"Kale Ponderosa."

"Your real name." It was eerie, both girls thought, how Thresh could see right through the girl's pseudonym. Or maybe he was just able to because it was a bad pseudonym.

The girl hesitated, as if unsure about this. Finally she sighed. "All right," she said. "I suppose no harm will come to any of us if I tell you. My given name is Artemis. Artemis H. Gossamer."

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**I will get into the actual Hunger Games stuff soon! (Like, in chapter... uh... thirteen?) This is a prologue.**

**Reviews are a writer's best friend! Please chime in and tell me how I'm doing so far ^_^**


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Level 11 of the Training Center Tower, three years later…**

"_The introductory process of the Final Hunger Games is to be quick and undecorative. There are no reapings; the tributes have already been selected individually and the districts they have been individually chosen to represent are completely irrelevant. There are no fancy trains to escort them to the Capitol; all of the tributes are already in the Capitol or have been shuttled in individually by way of trains that have no lavish accessories or decorations aboard. There are to be no parades, interviews, or fancy outfits. Contrary to previous years, the viewers do not want these frivolous preludes to the battle royale that is coming. Frankly, they cannot wait for the killing to begin, and even more frankly, the Gamemakers can't either. But there are to be a few training sessions, so that the tributes have a chance to sharpen up their skills, for many of them are already proficient in different kinds of weapons, and these last tributes are no ordinary tributes. They are the last tributes, selected and sent for the vengeful symbolism of the rebels' new government. They are the Capitol children, getting back what they had cried out for since birth. The blood of children."_

"Well, that's just not right," Artemis Hecate Gossamer mumbled sardonically in her lilting voice as she read the leaflet. Her mentor leaned against the door frame that led into Artemis's temporary bedroom as he watched the young, yet extremely judgmental and intelligent, girl flip through the seditious, self-published leaflets that were often found tacked up on buildings throughout the Capitol. He wondered if she was just scanning lightly, or if she really could read at such an expeditious rate. The entire leaflet, which was actually quite short in comparison to some of the other raving publications, took her approximately five seconds to read.

"What's not right?" Haymitch asked. He was, in fact, quite sober. Katniss had made sure of it.

Artemis looked up. "Just this leaflet." With a flourish, she gripped the page at the top and tore it exactly in half down the middle. Haymitch watched in amusement as she placed these two halves on top of each other, then tore these into half. And so on, until all Artemis was holding was a stack of exactly thirty-two pieces of confetti. She tossed these scraps into the air and watched the little white squares flutter down to the ground and join the many other pieces of ripped-up leaflets. "Very poorly written. Grammar mistakes as far as the eye can see. A poor attempt at poetic, flowing speech. I lost count of how many times they used the word 'individually'. Too many run-on sentences, and many misplaced and rather corny fragments. Some good points, such as the one about the rebels not being able to wait for the killing to begin, but even more bad points. Overall, an amateur, unedited piece of work that wrapped the entire package up in an insult. An insult to my conscience and my pride. The idiotic author of this piece will be sorry if I ever get out of this mess."

Haymitch did not understand half of what she had just said. But then again, Artemis was an eloquent speaker. He generally did not understand eloquent speakers. Shrugging, he decided that yes, the girl could in fact read that fast, or so he assumed if she could give such a lengthy and detailed speech on the item of reading itself. Incredible.

Artemis leaned over to the bedside table and took another leaflet. This one was about the justice that the Capitol children would be receiving, and gave out many rather gory suggestions of the different ways they should die. She sighed again and ripped this one up in the same fashion, without even bothering to read the entire thing through.

"Has anyone told you that you have anger issues, Artemis?" Haymitch inquired.

"And antisocial tendencies, habits for advanced formalistic acerbity, and an insatiable penchant for going places I'm not supposed to," she added with a jaded sigh. "I like to sum it up in the words 'evil genius'."

Haymitch's brow furrowed. "What's advanced formalistic acerbity?"

"It's a term I made up. It's acerbity or sarcasm through complicated, formal sentence structures and unnecessarily long and obscure adjectives. Really, it has a more dramatic impact than you might think."

Her mentor looked only more confused and opened his mouth to ask, but then he seemed to think better of it and closed his mouth. She kept her eyes trained on him the entire time. "Was there something you were going to ask, Mr. Abernathy?"

Normally, if any other tribute had called him Mr. Abernathy in the mocking way she did, he would have done or said something that the tribute would not quickly forget. But Artemis was different. For one, she was female, and for two, she was way more intelligent than most fourteen-year-olds. She acted as if she was the smartest person in the room, and Haymitch had to admit that sometimes she was probably right. He pressed his lips tighter together to prevent him from saying something unwise, then he shook his head. When he had first met Artemis, he had liked the look of her. She was smart, fast, arrogant, and acerbic, not to mention good with sharp blades. He had been reminded of himself when he was younger. Now he was left wondering if his own mentor had ever felt this frustrated with him. Probably.

He could almost feel her intense gaze penetrating into him as he turned his back and walked away from her bedroom. "This kid's good," he muttered to himself.

"Thank you," Artemis's clear, lilting voice rang out in the silence.

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The last load of tributes came in that night. The next day, they would begin training. Each and every one of the tributes was marked off in attendance before they went to bed, which was just another security procedure to make sure that no one had gone "missing" during the day. Then everyone drifted off to sleep, in preparation for a long and hard day of training tomorrow.

All except for one.

The cameras didn't even see her board the elevator and insert a silver key into a keyhole on the elevator panel. The elevator didn't move for a second, but then it geared up and rocketed down. Down, down, down the elevator raced, until Artemis's ears popped. The elevator eventually slowed. When the doors slid open, she stepped out silently into a spacious, dimly lit room. Her eyes scanned back and forth. Good, no guards. The Control Room would most of the time be empty until the Games officially began. The elevator door closed behind her, leaving her in almost complete darkness except for a few soft glowing lights on the walls.

She waited a few moments as her natural night vision kicked in, then she crept down the stairs on silent feet. She stopped at the balcony and gazed down at the holoboards and consoles, currently in sleep mode. For a moment, she imagined the Gamemakers below her and wondered what it would feel like to be the Head Gamemaker, standing at this very spot while commanding her underlings to kill more tributes. She smiled coldly, for several reasons. The first was that her father had, in fact, wanted her to become a Gamemaker when she grew up (it was either that or a lawyer, and Artemis highly doubted that she had the patience for the latter). The second was for the folly on the Capitol people for placing the Control Room right below the Training Center, accessible to anyone who had a key –– or who had stolen one.

Normally, in a situation like this, she would be worrying about cameras. But there were no cameras. This was the Control Room that manipulated the Games. It was a confidential area, and the only thing between civilians and this top-secret lair was a key. Artemis smiled again. Stupid Gamemakers. This was the seventh time in her life that she had ever been down here. All of them had been illegally.

She strode down the stairs and crouched in front of a Gamemaker's holoboard. She ran her fingers along the edge of the console, feeling around with her quick fingers. Her fingertips pressed against a small, almost invisible latch, and the entire side of the console opened. Cautiously, Artemis lowered the door, revealing an impressive array of wires, inlets, outlets, switches, lights, dials, and tiny screens. Her careful hands hovered over the mechanisms for a moment, then she pulled two specific wires from their sockets and plugged them together in the space of half a second. She froze stock still as she waited. After a full minute had passed with no sign of anything except the gentle hum of sleeping holoboards, she relaxed. If Artemis had not hotwired it in the way she did, the first touch of a wire of switch would have set off an alarm and she'd be dead. Literally and/or figuratively. Even though cameras were banned, there was security down here for reasons. People weren't supposed to be in here unless they were supposed to be.

Once she relaxed, Artemis pulled two objects from the breast pocket of her denim jacket. One was a flat, rectangle-shaped silver disk, about nine centimeters long and four centimeters wide. The other object was a short white cord. She plugged one end into the disk and the other end into a certain outlet of the console. The screen on the silver disk lit up with a small circle symbol, which swirled as it loaded. After a few seconds the circle vanished and was replaced by a message. _Download all? _Underneath it were two options: _Yes_ and _No._

_Absolutely,_ thought Artemis, and selected _Yes._

The circle reappeared, above a single word. _Downloading… _it read, and after a count of exactly ten seconds, it was replaced with a note.

_Warning,_ it read, _changes made from the main console to the data downloaded on this device will alert you when relevant changes are made. If you are to be fighting to the death in an arena in which you are not permitted to have this device, you may want to set your device to vibrate._

Artemis pressed the icon for _OK._ The circle came back, over the words _Saving changes… _which were quickly replaced by a white check mark and _Changes Saved. _She unplugged the disk and the cord, slipping them into her jacket pocket. Then her nimble, thin fingers started flying over the complicated mess of cords and switches and tiny screens in an almost incomprehensible pattern until a tiny blue screen in the top right hand corner lit up and inquired, _Clear download history?_ Artemis selected the _Yes _icon.

She shut down the system, closed the door of the console, and stood up. Artemis Hecate Gossamer now had the entire Hunger Games at her fingertips.

_Watch out, Katniss Everdeen,_ she thought with a sinister smile. _These Games are no longer yours._

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**Reviews are love...**

**And as of the moment I published this people are hating me o,_o**

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	3. Chapter 2

**AN: I believe there is a bit of confusion as for the parentage of Artemis Hecate Gossamer. So I will just clear it up for you –– she is NOT President Snow's granddaughter. I repeat, Artemis has no biological relations to President Snow. Artemis is the daughter of Apollo Gossamer, the Treasurer of the National Bank of Panem. President Snow's granddaughter is a girl by the name Iris Medea Snow, and she comes in a lot later. **

**And now I will introduce to you my second (and definitely not my last) OC, a rather useless and sometimes quite brainless young man named Petronius Artolian Lyre...**

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**Chapter 2**

Petronius awoke from a nightmare. The tall eighteen-year-old was scared of very few things –– if you do not count clowns, the dark, heights, and small spaces –– but this last dream had made all of the former things seem insignificant. He was in the Hunger Games, and he was being chased.

Then he sighed when he realized his current predicament. That nightmare may have very well been a prophecy of the future. Because Petronius was the representative for District 10 in the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games.

His father had been a lawyer in the Capitol, and a very good and manipulative one at that. His mother had been something of a goddess in the Capitol's world of fashion marketing. Not very impressive for Petronius, but once, when his mother was advertising for a preteen-age swimsuit line, she used Petronius as a young model. All of the girls at his school flocked to him like bees to honey after that. Then Petronius hit puberty and he became the weirdo whom people left alone and no one picked on because (1) his family was rich and (2) he was pretty good with a sword, especially when insulted about his facial acne.

When the rebels took over, Petronius's father had been imprisoned. His mother had gone literally insane at the loss of her riches and had been put in an asylum. Petronius, who was sixteen at the time, and his younger sister Paityn, who was four, had been separated. Paityn was sent to live with a foster family in the districts, and Petronius was enrolled into something that his rebel captors had called "juvenile hall". It wasn't a bad place, really. They got food, clothing, and shelter and had a few bits of freedom. But all of the students, who ranged in age from eight to eighteen, were never let beyond the building's electrified fence and were forced to get trackers injected into their bodies, just to prevent anyone from "getting lost".

Juvenile hall was a temporary measure, Petronius knew. After a few years of probation, the new government would release them to continue living their lives. But he also knew that it wouldn't be that simple. He was an intelligent, imaginative boy, engrossed in anything involving books or writing, and for extensive education had been in the process of enrolling to the Capitol's Academy of Creative and Literary Arts, also known as ACLA. Being thrown in juvie would seriously put a bump in his career as a writer.

These thoughts were dismissed completely when he found that he had been chosen to participate in the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games, along with twenty-three other specifically selected tributes that were to be representing the children of the districts. Exactly one thousand, seven hundred forty-four dead tributes to be avenged with twenty-three of those who had watched them die. No, Petronius corrected himself, twenty-four. Even if there was a victor emerging from the ranks of Capitol children, chances were slim of the victor's survival. The rebels would never let them live in peace, or even live at all.

That didn't mean that Petronius automatically counted himself out. He was tall and wiry, not to mention a natural swords master. And even though he was somewhat skinny, he was strong. He surmised that maybe, if he could get a hold of a sword or at least a knife and find a substantial food and water source, he'd have a chance.

But there was just another problem. He knew too many of the other tributes. He had met them, he had even been friends with most of them. His district partner, a thirteen-year-old girl named Augusta, just so happened to be his second cousin and his symbolic sister. He had once dated the female representative for District 4, whose name was Callia, not to mention the female representative for District 1, whose name was Cynthia and who was a polar opposite of Callia. His former lab partner from the eighth grade was the boy representing District 11, Cornelius. He was well acquainted with a lot of the older ones, because among the ranks of rich and powerful leaders their children tend to associate naturally, but did not know very many of the younger ones. He had heard of a few of them and even met a couple, but his memories were hazy.

"That's what you'll have to avoid," his mentor told them at the breakfast table. Petronius sat directly across from her, and waited for her to finish her sentence.

"What will we have to avoid?" he prompted, not even pausing his ravenous consumption of his pancakes.

Katniss Everdeen looked up and focused on him with her intense gray-blue eyes. "Friendships," she said with a note of steel in her voice. "They'll weaken you and make you vulnerable, and they allow the other person the hold enough to manipulate you. Alliances are dangerous things, and they can end dangerously. Choose your allies carefully."

Petronius and Augusta exchanged a glance. It was widely known that Katniss Everdeen –– the star-crossed lover of District 12, the victor of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, the girl on fire, and the Mockingjay –– had possibly lost some of her marbles. The Gamemakers had been reluctant to let her mentor anyone, due to what they called "instability" and what others called, behind her back of course, "insanity".

But this was good advice. Definitely not what they had been expecting. And yet Katniss did not finish her speech of life-saving advice. She seemed to be concentrating on something else off in the middle distance. Petronius and Augusta turned around to see what she was looking at. Seeing nothing, they both shrugged and returned to their breakfasts. This was more like what they were expecting.

After breakfast, they got dressed and rode the elevator down to the Training Center. They were the last ones to arrive, and awkwardly split up. The other tributes were already exploring the various stations.

Petronius started making his way over to the station for basic first aid, because he had a feeling that if he didn't go now, he might forget and then remember _after_ he died of a strange lethal wound. He had almost reached the station when his instincts buzzed. He tried to duck, but he was too late and a blue foam head pelted Petronius on the side of his face. Petronius swerved around and located the source of the mysterious foam head to a group of laughing tributes about five meters away, all standing in front of a decapitated foam dummy. There were five of them in all, and the second largest but obviously the leader of the five, a monstrous boy with a number 12 on his uniform, held a giant battleaxe over his shoulder with one hand and what appeared to be a baseball bat in the other.

"Hey, Petro," the boy called, "you might want to duck."

The rest of his group burst into laughter at the mindless wit. Petronius scowled as he recognized the District 12 representative as Julius Kane, the son of the Peacekeeper General. Julius was Petronius's age, but they didn't get along well. He was ruthless and violent, not to mention good with a battleaxe. Moodily, Petronius picked up the foam head, threw it at Julius, and walked away without watching the effects of his throw. It was too bad that he did not, because he was actually pretty good with throwing projectiles and the foam head hit Julius square on the nose.

Petronius didn't see the purple-robed Gamemaker marking down something on a clipboard.

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**Not all of my chapters will be this short. However, a lot of them will be. And not all of them will be this uneventful. I update daily, so no worries and not too much waiting.**

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	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

He met up with Augusta at the first aid station, and they worked together. They both picked up new tricks, but it was definitely Augusta who learned more. She was absolutely entranced. So entranced, it seemed, that while she was busy stitching up a fake wound and while Petronius was watching her, neither of them noticed the boy as he walked up until he spoke.

"Hey," the boy said, startling both of them. But it was more of an accusation than a greeting, and Petronius was immediately on his guard.

"Amadeus!" Augusta said cheerily. "Hi! What's up?"

Petronius relaxed. He knew Amadeus. Of course he did, because they were cousins. Amadeus was Augusta's twin brother, anyway. They even looked it with their curly auburn hair, hazel eyes, and slight figures. But somehow, Amadeus had been chosen as the representative for District 9 while Augusta was the tribute for 10. Petronius saw in Amadeus's eyes the poorly disguised contempt at being separated from his sister.

Amadeus shifted his weight and dropped his arms to his sides. Although their physical appearances were very similar, their personalities were polar opposites. Augusta was an obvious extrovert and smiled to everyone she met. Amadeus was shy and sometimes sullen, not to mention protective of his "baby" sister. (In truth, they were only ten minutes apart.)

"I want you to come with me," said Amadeus in a low voice, sounding eerily similar to the villain of an old movie Petronius's dad had shown to Petronius once.

"Oh, just wait a second," replied Augusta brightly, "I just need to finish fixing up this mortal wound with Petronius really quickly."

"I don't want you to be around Petronius," Amadeus said coldly, and Petronius almost flinched at the young boy's directness.

Augusta opened her mouth, but no words came out. She closed her lips, then asked, "Why?"

"Yeah," Petronius said in a puzzled voice. "Why?"

Amadeus turned his glowering hazel eyes to Petronius. "As stupid and unthreatening you may seem," he began, at which Petronius interrupted with an indignant "Hey!", which he ignored and continued, "Augusta wouldn't stand a chance against you. I've seen and heard of what you can do with a sword."

Petronius recoiled. The very thought of ever hurting Augusta –– innocent, oblivious Augusta –– sickened him. He wasn't even able to say anything, the surprise was so intense, as Amadeus took his sister's hand and led her away from Petronius. "Come on," he said, trying to be as gentle as he could, but this gentleness vanished when he fixed his eyes on Petronius. "And you," he snapped. "I don't care if you two share a level in this bloody building. Stay away from my baby sister."

And so ended Petronius's first attempt at forming an alliance. Badly.

At lunch, Petronius wanted to sit with Augusta. The girl was adorable, not in beautiful way –– that wasn't to say that she was ugly, because she was definitely not –– but was adorable in a little-kid kind of way. He loved her; she reminded him of his real sister Paityn. But right as he was about to head over to Augusta's table with his lunch, he caught the glaring eye of Amadeus, and their gazes locked. Petronius remembered, nodded understandingly, and walked away to find a different table.

He noticed the tables in the back were occupied by lone tributes, such as Iris Snow and Cornelius Thyme, taking up entire tables of their own. There were many of these tables, Petronius noticed, with lone tributes, but there were no vacant and unoccupied ones. _Association with the loners may be required._

There were two in particular who caught his eye, or rather, did not. One of them sat in the far left corner, angled so she was allowed a full view of the entire room. At first, she sat so still that Petronius thought the table was empty, until he saw the plates and tray and followed them to the girl sitting behind them. Her short dark hair veiled her eyes as she hunched over, giving her a hostile, intimidating appearance, but that could just be an illusion. Petronius made his way over and sat directly across from her.

"Hi," he said, just for starters.

"What do you want, Petronius?" The girl didn't even look up as she said it, and yet she still knew who it was. Creepy.

"Can I sit with you?" he asked uncomfortably.

"You just did."

"Oh. Uh, thanks," he replied with increasing awkwardness. "I guess you already know me, so…"

"Petronius Artolian Lyre, male representative for District 10, eighteen years old, six feet two inches, one hundred seventy-nine pounds," she droned in the voice of someone who did not care about the information she was spouting. Her bored voice was marked with the tinge of a foreign lilt that wasn't typical of Capitol-raised children, or even district children. "You could say I know you." She never looked up as she said it. She just kept calmly eating her salad.

"That's really creepy," Petronius muttered. "Problem is, I don't know you."

"My, that _is _a problem," the girl gasped, every word dripping with sarcasm as she finally set down her fork and looked up. Petronius almost flinched as their eyes met. Hers were dark, cold, and more intensely focused than he had ever seen before. She was younger than he expected, not much older than Augusta. But her olive-skinned face was hard and emotionless, and her lips were devoid of a smile. He managed to catch a glimpse of the number on her shirt sleeve –– 11. "You don't remember me," she continued, but it was a statement, not a question.

Petronius held her gaze for a second, trying to dig up where he had seen her before, and then he squeezed his eyes shut. "Wait!" he muttered, snapping his fingers repeatedly, like he had a habit of doing when he was trying to remember something. "Wait…YES!" At the second word, he pointed at her. "Treasurer Apollo Gossamer's daughter! Right?"

She sighed. "Yes, I suppose."

"You were on the news," Petronius continued, warming up to the topic. "Like, four years ago?"

"That's not what I prefer to be remembered for, but yes," she rolled her eyes. "And it was only three years ago."

"What were you on the news for? I can't remember," asked Petronius rather unwisely. "Didn't you run away or something…?"

"You would do wise to shut up now," she advised coldly, but Petronius was on a roll. He wasn't going to stop easily. As he was ranting, he did not see her subtly grab the knife from her plate.

"Yeah, it was," he said, "you went missing for a year, then you came back and said you were in District 11, and you wouldn't tell the press anything else –– "

The knife flashed in her fist, and Petronius abruptly stopped speaking a microsecond after the thud reached his ears. The sharp knife had buried itself in the wooden table, right in the centimeter-wide space between the index and middle fingers of his left hand. The girl's hand still gripped the handle, and Petronius was amazed at how fast she had lunged across the table. Fast enough to catch even him off guard. He didn't dare move his hand, but the adrenaline was now racing through his system.

"I said," she repeated darkly, swiftly pulling the knife out from between Petronius's fingers and twirling it nimbly in her fingers, "shut up."

Petronius quickly withdrew his hand. Nodding almost imperceptibly, the girl set down the knife and continued poking at her salad. Neither of them said anything, until Petronius broke the silence with a single name: "Artemis Gossamer."

The girl froze. After a second, she looked up with only her eyes, barely moving her head. "What?"

"That's your name. Artemis Gossamer." Petronius felt proud of himself for remembering a person's name. "I met you once, at one of your dad's dinner parties. You and I were the only kids there."

Artemis said nothing, only waited for him to continue.

"You stole the watch right off my wrist, along with my dad's wallet. Your father sent you to your room before the night was over, I remember."

A flicker of recognition, or maybe amusement, flashed briefly across her face before vanishing into the impenetrable indifference. "That's what I was looking for. Or, at least, waiting for you to remember."

She reverted back to poking at her salad. He noticed her token, a silver necklace with a pinkish-purple pearl set in a pendant, hanging around her neck. "Artemis," said Petronius, trying the name out again.

"What?"

"Sorry. I wasn't really talking to you."

"Who were you talking to, then? I don't see any more Artemises in the room."

"No, uh…" _What am I talking about? Shut up, Petronius! _"I like that name. Greek, right?"

"Greek goddess of the moon and the hunt. Mom hoped that I would grow up to become as beautiful as a painting she saw of Artemis. Her name was Athena."

"Greek names run in the family, huh?"

"We're nonconformists."

Petronius said nothing for quite a while and simply watched Artemis eat her meal. She was a mystery to him. The idea that this…this _girl_ acted as his superior puzzled him. And he didn't particularly like it. She was an interesting figure. Of course, he didn't _like_ like her –– for heaven's sake, she was four years younger than he –– but he was definitely intimidated. The silence she was giving was not shyness. It was defiant indifference. She did not care about him, plain and simple.

"Do you want to talk?" he asked.

Artemis glanced back up at him as if he had just stuck his finger up his nose, which is to say, with a disgusted scowl. "No."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Get lost."

The words were spoken with such indifference that he realized that she not only did not care about his predicament, but that she would not even care if he dropped down dead. So he did the tactical thing. He muttered "sorry" again and left her alone. If she didn't want a friend, that was her problem. Not his.

And so ended Petronius's second attempt at forming an alliance. Worse than the first.

Remember, dear reader, that there were two individuals that Petronius noticed, not just one. The second was a boy in the opposite corner. The light bulb on the ceiling above him had just burned out, providing shadows in which the individual sat. He was hunched over his plate, picking out the blueberries and strawberries from his fruit salad but not eating the rest. From Petronius's vantage point, he didn't look too impressive. But as Petronius drew closer, he began to make out more details about the boy. On the sleeve of his shirt was the number 4. So he's Callia's district partner, thought Petronius distractedly. His black hair flopped over his ears and eyes and hid his face. He was small and skinny, but somewhere Petronius sensed a hidden danger in the boy.

So Petronius slid into the chair across from him and said, "Hi."

The boy said nothing. He didn't even acknowledge Petronius's presence.

"I'm Petronius," he continued. "Representing District 10. What's your name?"

"Caius," said the boy, not even looking up.

Petronius was unfazed. He was determined this time. His tingling instincts told him that this young, dark boy would be a good ally –– and a dangerous enemy. A perfect combination for Hunger Games alliances.

"So, uh, you got an ally already?" asked Petronius uneasily. Something about Caius just made Petronius suspicious.

"Yes," he replied shortly.

"Who?"

Caius looked up and stared into Petronius's eyes, and now Petronius could see the boy's entire face. He was no older than fifteen, though his expression made him seem much older. His sharp dark eyes and unkempt shock of black hair, which looked like Caius had cut it with safety scissors while blindfolded, contrasted with the deathly pale skin of his thin face and prominent cheekbones. Petronius felt a sense of déjà vu, because once again he met a pair of hostile, scheming dark eyes that glinted with the wild light of either insanity or genius, possibly both. But Artemis's expression had been mostly just arrogant and annoyed –– Caius's glare was dangerous, almost startling.

"Myself," he said coldly.

Petronius shifted uneasily and averted his eyes from that piercing black gaze that never faltered or blinked. "Do you want me to leave?"

"It would be for the benefit of your health if you did," said Caius sardonically, watching Petronius as he stood up and turned away.

But before Petronius walked away he turned back to the hostile boy and suggested, "Hey, if you do decide to get an ally, there's a girl at another table who I think you'll like. Her name's Artemis and she did the same thing to me as you did."

"If Artemis cast you out," he said flatly, "she did it for a good reason, the same as mine. Now find your own table and stop bothering loners."

"Okay, okay," Petronius consented, leaving Caius and slumping down on the floor by the garbage can. He decided that if all the tributes were going to be this prickly when sharing the limited table space, then he might as well fight alone and friendless.

And so ended Petronius's third attempt at forming an alliance. Worse than all the others combined.

**Know that I read all of your reviews. Know that you are heard. Now let me hear you!**

**If you thought this story sucks so far, go ahead and say so. HOW IN THE BLITHERING BLUE BLAZES AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW IF IT SUCKS WHEN I HAVE NO ONE TELLING ME HOW IT SUCKS?! (Which is kind of self-explanatory, but... still...)**


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The next day, Petronius's determination broke. He had managed to veer away from the swords for a whole day so far, but he couldn't stand it any longer. He didn't care what Katniss had warned him about showing off his skills too early. He hadn't used a sword since…well, since the rebels took over. He had to get his hands on one of those shining blades immediately.

He ran his fingers over the hilts and picked up a couple of ones that looked right, but none of them _felt _right in his hands. "A master swordsman," he explained to the trainer, "has to have the right feel for a certain sword, which is balanced for maximum accuracy." The trainer sympathized with him and told him to take a few whacks with a practice sword for the time being. At first, when Petronius tested out his skills on a padded dummy, he was shocked at how much his skills had decreased from a year and a half of neglect. Feverishly he repeated the standard drills over and over, trying to regain the natural instinct he had had with the sword. He practiced them for hours. Some of the more arrogant tributes, such as Julius and his crew, watched him and jeered, but Petronius's attention never wavered. His muscles started to recall the movements, and the actions once more became instinctive. After one last devastating overhand cut that would have decapitated any opponent, he stopped. He was drenched in sweat from the intensive workout, and took a deep swig of water from a plastic bottle. From the sidelines, the sword trainer approached him and handed him a silver sword with a three-foot blade, razor keen and perfectly balanced. Petronius hefted it once in both hands, then smiled. This was what he was looking for.

He replaced the padded dummies for foam ones, and got in the fighting stance. Julius and his crew, who had stopped to watch again, went silent. And when this arrogant group went silent, the rest of the room followed.

Then, like an arrow flying from a bow, Petronius launched himself at the foam dummies. His sword never stopped moving, neither did the one who held it. He was a whirlwind of ferocity and destruction. The sword became an extension of his arm, and a lethal one at that. He parried imaginary blows without faltering even a second in his attack sequences. This, many people in the room realized, was a warrior to fear.

Only one person did not watch. He was a certain small, dark boy who had taken off his shoes and was now crouched barefoot in front of a partially finished snare. While everyone else gaped and gasped at the show pony of a swordsman, he turned his back and continued his work.

When Petronius stopped with his sword raised and ready to parry, every single dummy surrounding him was either decapitated, split right down the middle, or stabbed right through their foam hearts. Every Gamemaker in the room started scratching notes on his clipboard. Petronius breathed heavily as he lowered his sword, and that's when the clapping started. It began with someone in the back of the room, near the spear targets. It was a slow, almost sarcastic clap, if a clap could be sarcastic. That blossomed into a chorus of slow applause, and Petronius's face started to resemble a tomato. A tomato with a sword.

The clapping faded and people started going back to their own business. Petronius handed the sword back to the sword trainer hilt-first, whose face was a mixture of terror and wonder. "I like it," he said, nodding.

But when he turned around, he found himself face-to-face with Julius. Petronius had to look up a few inches, not a common thing. Julius was three inches taller than him.

"That was pretty good swordsmanship, if I do say so myself," Julius remarked lazily, folding his arms.

Petronius was instantly on high alert. Flattery from Julius was a dangerous thing. He took a quick look around and noticed that the rest of Julius's crew was standing a few meters away, watching from afar. Cynthia was one of them, he noticed, the beautiful, tall girl he had once courted. Unfortunately, she had dumped him for Lucius, who was also there, examining the swords on the rack but looking up to meet Petronius's eyes with a glare. There was a towering, dark-skinned boy, taller than even Julius, who was built like an ox and looked like he could break one of those foam dummies with two fingers. Petronius didn't know him, nor did he know the stocky, muscular girl next to Cynthia who kept glancing back over to the spear station wistfully, as if saying, _Can we go now?_ Petronius later learned that the frighteningly huge young man was named Marius, and the girl was named Claudia.

"So good," Julius continued, "that we've decided that we like your style. How would you like to join our group?"

Petronius wasn't entirely sure what to say. He liked the idea of being in a group, but he didn't trust any of the members in that aforementioned group. "So this is how it is?" he inquired, knowing that the way out of a predicament like this often lay in tactics and diplomacy. "You're just banding up now?"

Julius scowled. "Yes or no, and I can tell you if you choose no, you'll be the first we come for."

"So this is how it is," Petronius repeated, but this time it was not a statement. "Just like earlier years. Banding up to eliminate the lesser threats, then turning on yourselves. Just like the Careers. Sure, having an ally is one thing. Joining a group that was formed merely to kill and win is another."

Julius seemed ultra-offended by this. "The Careers?" he said. "We are nothing like the Careers –– they did it for the money. They did it for the rewards. They all went willingly. We are not the Careers. We are the Elites. What are we doing it for? _Survival. _None of us chose to be here."

Petronius nodded. "You're right. None of us chose to be here. But we can choose other things, and one of those is whether to stay with a pack or not. I'm sorry, but that's just not for me."

He shrugged and walked away. Julius seemed absolutely enraged, but he did nothing as he stared at Petronius. Petronius did not care. He felt empowered by his own small rebellion, and felt like throwing a spear. So that's what he did.

In a dark corner, Artemis inclined her head approvingly as she watched the District 10 representative walk away.

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**Review otherwise I will give Petronius an espresso and a sword and send the hyperactive result after you.**

**Petronius: *sniffs disdainfully* I never get hyper.**

***cricket, cricket***

**Petronius: Well, I DON'T!**

**Everyone else: Sure… riiiiiiiight…**


	6. Chapter 5

**Two updates in one day! I know! You're not going to get it again! I'm just feeling very generous today, because I got two reviews (TWO REVIEWS! Happy dance time :D) in the first hour of Chapter 4 (or would it be 5?) being up, and was so motivated that I decided to post the next chappy now. And this one really isn't much. Just a bunch of dialogue (but it's IMPORTANT, so read it anyway) that I could have blended in with Chapter 4 but didn't feel like doing. Plus I missed a day, so I'm just getting back on track. (These daily updates won't last long, though... once we start getting into the suspense-filled, cliffhanger chapters, I'll extend the intervals between updates to THREE days... *evil laugh* uhh...)**

**So here it is...**

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**Chapter 5**

That night at dinner, Katniss asked a very strange question. Actually, it was not exactly strange. Just random. "Do you know who the District 12 representatives are?"

Petronius looked up from his steak. "One of them's Julius Kane, I know that. He tried to get me to join his band today. He called it some stupid name, like the Elites or something, but basically it's just this year's approximation of the Careers. Except that they really don't care about the district number, for obvious reasons."

At the other end of the table, Augusta glanced up and met Petronius's eye. Shyly, she returned to her meal. Amadeus was being very protective of late. It didn't matter that he wasn't here.

"What about the girl?" Katniss asked. Petronius shrugged.

"I dunno. I think her name's Iris or something, and she's eleven. Granddaughter of President Snow."

"She's eleven?" Katniss repeated, her voice catching in her throat.

Petronius shrugged again. "Yeah. They ignored that for this year's Games, because the rebels really want the girl dead. They're not really specific about the age restrictions this year. Marius is nineteen and they're letting him in."

"Why?"

"I dunno. I thought you would."

"They don't particularly care what age we are," Augusta put in quietly, "just so long as we're dead."

"Wouldn't Marius have an advantage, then?" asked Katniss.

Petronius laughed. "He's pretty big, but muscle doesn't have much to do with it. He wouldn't know the difference between an orange and an apple if you gave him a choice."

Katniss frowned. "How could you get –– "

"Trust me, if you're that stupid _and _colorblind, you can," said Petronius. "Julius just keeps him around for when he needs to hit someone and doesn't feel like doing it himself."

"So back to Snow's granddaughter," said his mentor, "is she good?"

"At what?"

"Weapons, survival, anything really."

"She's not very strong. I've seen her by the archery range, and I guess she's pretty good. I also saw her at the first-aid station, talking to the trainer about more advanced stuff."

"Oh," Katniss said. "That's…nice. Is there anyone else either of you saw? Possible allies, maybe?"

Petronius looked at Augusta, who had been mostly silent the entire dinner. She shrugged. "Just Amadeus. He doesn't want me associating with other people."

Katniss inclined her chin, but she said nothing and just looked at Petronius. He mirrored Augusta's shrug. "Like I said, Julius asked me to join his crew."

"Really?" Katniss asked, obviously waiting for more information.

"Yeah. It's just him, Cynthia, Marius, Lucius, and some girl named Claudia, I think. I refused, because Julius really doesn't like me."

"Then why did he ask?"

Confession time. "Well, they might have seen me using a sword. Just a little bit."

"He was hogging up the entire sword station for three hours," Augusta translated.

Katniss rolled her eyes and sighed. Petronius realized, for the first time, how young she was. She was only a few months older than him. He also realized how cute she was, but then he dashed away these thoughts. Peeta Mellark would kill him.

Petronius decided to continue and cover up his mistake by talking. "Whatever," he said. "I was impatient. Anyway, Julius wasn't the only one who I thought about joining." He had Katniss's full attention. "Yesterday, at lunch break, I talked to a few loners."

"Really? Who?" asked Katniss.

"Female District 11, Artemis Gossamer, and male District 4, Caius." He thought for a moment. "I'm not sure what Caius's last name was. He didn't say. He kind of… uh… scared me off before he could tell me."

"Angelico," Augusta put in. "Caius Adrian Angelico. I know him. Son of Vice President Adrian Angelico. He's not very nice."

"Yeah," Petronius said. "Him. You're right about that last part."

Katniss opened her mouth to say something, but then she seemed to think better of it and stood up. She left the table, and after a hesitation, Augusta followed. Petronius was left by himself, picking at his meal.

_ Great. Now I've ticked off my mentor, too._

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**Please please please please please review! It's not much! Just... just do it. Five people have taken that step... you can do it too *gives puppy dog eyes* pwease?**


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The next morning, Petronius awoke and got dressed in preparal for another training session. Katniss stopped him on the way out of his bedroom door and said, "There aren't any training sessions today."

"Why not?" he asked.

"There just aren't," she replied, but when Petronius cocked his head, silently asking her to continue, she sighed and continued, "In a normal Hunger Games, today would be the day of your private training sessions with the Gamemakers. This isn't a normal Hunger Games. There aren't going to be any more training sessions."

"Why not?" asked Petronius again.

"Too much danger," said Katniss shortly. "The Gamemakers fear that this year's tributes are…angry. They don't want some crazy lunatic attacking them with a sword."

"Or shooting them with an arrow," Petronius offered with a poorly disguised grin. Even with the attempts made to keep the incident secret, secrets often leaked out.

Katniss's cheeks went red. "But anyway, we're not having any private training sessions. I'm not entirely sure why they don't put up a force field, like last year, but…"

"I heard something about the Gamemakers worrying that there might be someone trying to manipulate the Games," Petronius blurted, and Katniss raised an eyebrow.

"Really?" she inquired.

"Yeah," said Petronius, and it was the truth. He had heard, when he was sort of kind of maybe eavesdropping on Julius's gang during lunch break. "I don't know how, but they figured it out. And someone spread the word about what kind of arena we'll have, and now everyone knows that we're having a forest-themed arena this year. The Gamemakers think that the same person who spread the rumor is the person who hacked their way in."

"That would make sense," said Katniss, and Petronius wasn't sure if he imagined the trace of sarcasm that tinged her voice. "Well, you can relax for a few hours. Get a bit of rest."

She walked away, and Petronius was left confused. "Wait, what? Rest for what?"

Katniss did not reply. Shrugging, Petronius flopped back down on the bed and went back to sleep.

He got up at noon to eat lunch, and then he lounged around in his room the rest of the day writing in his journal. He could have done something more productive, like practicing with his sword in the Training Center, but right now he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts and his characters. Writing relaxed him.

He looked up at the ceiling and chewed the end of his pen as he thought. Then he turned back to the journal and kept writing. _The spy crept forward,_ he wrote, _with his hand resting subtly on his gun. His breathing was shallow, and his movements were quick and furtive as he approached the enemy building. Getting caught now, he realized, would mean a lifetime of imprisonment and torture, if not execution. Suddenly, a bright light shone into his eyes, and he ––_

Petronius was suddenly jolted back into reality by the sound of a knock on his bedroom door. "Petronius?" Katniss's voice called. "Come on out!"

Petronius looked at the clock. It was five thirty. He shrugged fatalistically. They could just be having an early dinner. He placed his pen and journal on his bedside table and opened the door. Katniss was there, wearing what might have been her approximation of a mischievous grin. "Come on," she said, leading him into the screening room. Petronius sighed at what she saw.

Caesar Flickerman was sitting on the couch. There were at least a half-dozen cameras surrounding him, along with a flock of makeup artists touching him up. Augusta was sitting down in a chair nearby, sipping a glass of water. Stage lights glared down on the setup, and Katniss gently shoved Petronius forward. "Get on with it. Augusta already went and she was great. It's your turn now."

"Oh, no," Petronius mumbled as the full implications of this suspicious setup occurred to him. "You don't mean…?"

"Interview time, Petronius," said an attractive young woman with a businesslike smile on her face. She was wearing high heels, a short black skirt, and a navy blue sweater, which set off her loose blond curls, deep blue eyes, and thick red lips. A black beret rested crookedly on her head, but it looked rather stylish all the same. She approached him with quick strides and held out her hand to shake. "My name is Juno. I'll be your stylist."

Petronius gingerly took her hand and shook, careful not to ruin her long, shiny red nails. He knew from bad experience how women could respond to having their nails ruined by a clumsy male. But he didn't expect this. Juno's grip was firm, and her delicate-looking fingers were strong. She released before he did. "Now," she said, scanning him over with her calculating blue eyes, "I think with just a bit of straightening up, you'll be good!"

Petronius looked down. He was wearing a rumpled shirt, a pair of drawstring pants, and socks that didn't look or smell so fresh. "How could I be good? I'm wearing pajamas!"

"Exactly," replied Juno crisply. "For these interviews, we don't want everyone dressed up in those fancy suits and dresses. We're taking you by surprise. It's a come-as-you-are affair. More casual and intimate, because the building where we used to have the interviews was… well, you know, looted and destroyed in the rebellion."

Petronius didn't want to be rude around this very attractive young lady, but he couldn't help but roll his eyes a bit. She saw it and laughed, reaching up and straightening his tousled bronze hair. "I think you're good," she said. "Really, for someone who spent their entire day sleeping and lounging in bed, you look pretty good!"

He shrugged. "I guess. I don't know."

Juno checked her silver watch. "Oh! You're on in ten," she said.

"Ten what?"

"Nine," she counted, still looking at her watch. "Eight…"

_"What?" _Petronius yelped, swerving around and scrambling towards the studio setup. He faltered halfway, not sure if he should go out. "Five," said Juno.

Someone shoved him into a chair underneath the glaring lights, and Petronius glanced around wildly and smoothed his hair again. "One," his stylist announced.

"And we are back!" Caesar Flickerman said, looking at the cameras with a smile.

That was basically when Petronius's nerves stopped working. He hated cameras. Really, he did. The last time he had sat in front of a camera was back in the sixth grade…

Their class had been assigned to film a short movie, and Petronius was chosen as the lead role. He wasn't a bad actor, but the main reason he was chosen was because at that time, every girl in the class had a crush on him and the movie was about a handsome prince with a sword. Go figure. He had ambitiously practiced his lines and actions, and thought he had it down. But when the day of filming began, alas, poor Petronius found out too late that he had stage fright. Of course, it wasn't a real stage and the only people watching were the other actors and the camera crew, but that did not matter. Cameras or spectators of any kind petrified him.

He was jolted out of the flashback when Caesar Flickerman said his name. "I'm sorry, what?" Petronius blustered, a bit startled.

"Well, it seems like someone is a bit tired," said Caesar, and Petronius managed a half smile. "I said, that was quite a training score you received. Can you tell us your secret?"

Petronius blinked. "What training scores?"

Caesar's brow furrowed. "You know, the ones the Gamemakers give out to the tributes? The ones we showed this morning?"

Petronius shook his head. "Sorry. Must have been asleep. What'd I get?"

"Ten," replied Caesar.

Petronius gave a low whistle. "Must've been the swords. I will say no more."

Caesar nodded. "I will respect that. Tell me, Petronius, are you ready for tomorrow?"

"Why? What's tomorrow?"

Caesar breathed out of his mouth, and Petronius could almost imagine the laughter coming from all over Panem. He could definitely hear the laughter from around the room. His cheeks reddened, and he looked down at his fingernails.

"Someone needs a bit of catching up," Caesar said, and Petronius rolled his eyes.

"Well, I'm sorry! I was interrupted in a good part of my story, you can't expect me to totally snap back into the real world within the space of two minutes!" shot Petronius, but he couldn't disguise the grin with the faked rage he was trying to pull off. Around the room, the low tittering turning into full-out chortling, and Petronius realized they weren't laughing at him. They were laughing with him.

Caesar smiled. "Really? What book are you reading?"

"Not reading," corrected Petronius. "Writing. And it's only a short story, not a book."

"Ah. What kind of 'good part'?"

"My main character was about to get captured and sliced to pieces by enemy forces, and Katniss pulled me out here for a nice long chat in my pajamas. That's what kind of good part it was."

Caesar gave a full belly laugh, but Petronius only smiled. "No, seriously. Back to the original question. What's tomorrow?"

"The Hunger Games," answered Caesar ominously. "Before you go, I have another question for you, Mr. Lyre."

"I'm all ears," said Petronius, shrugging fatalistically.

"There are whispers about a budding feud between you and District 12's representative Julius Kane. For those of you out there who don't know," he said, speaking to the cameras and the unseen audience, "Julius Kane is the son of former Peacekeeper General Octavian Kane, who was executed the day after former President Coriolanus Snow and was considered the second-most dangerous man in the Capitol."

"Consider something else," interjected Petronius. "The daughter of the most dangerous man and the son of the second most are sharing a level at the top of this building. Comforting thought, huh?"

Caesar and one of the cameramen exchanged a nervous glance. "Did they plan that?" he asked in a lower voice. "No? Hmm… that's odd. Are they planning –– "

"I can answer that for you," interjected Petronius. "No. Iris doesn't seem to want anything to do with anybody. And Julius doesn't seem to want her, no matter who her father was. She's kind of… small."

"Interesting," said Caesar. "Well, it seems like our time is up. Best of luck to you, Petronius, and may the odds be ever in your favor. Maybe, if you get out, you can finish your book."

They stood up and shook hands. "Thank you," Petronius said, smiling and nodding. He left the glare of the lights as Caesar said to the cameras, "That was Petronius Lyre, folks! We will be back, with District 11's representative Artemis Gossamer after this short ten minute break!"

The cameras stopped whirring and someone yelled, "That's a wrap!" Quickly and efficiently, the set crew started to pack things up and cart them into the elevator to move to Level 11.

Juno hobbled up to Petronius and hugged him as if she had known him all her life. "You did wonderful, Petro!" she squealed. "Brainless swordsman-crossed-author –– perfect angle!"

Petronius frowned as she retreated from the embrace. "Brainless? Why'd you call me brainless?"

She laughed. "No reason," she replied, a little too innocently. "I'll see you tomorrow, at the Games, okay?"

Without waiting for his answer, she strode away. Petronius collapsed on a chair, the adrenaline of his short time in front of the cameras washing over him like a tsunami wave. He felt like he needed to hit something.

So he just locked himself in his room for the rest of the night. After punching the air, eating cream puffs, and taking a very cold shower, he fell asleep. But as he dreamt, he heard one name echoing over and over.

_Artemis Gossamer._

_ Artemis Gossamer._

_ Artemis Gossamer._

He had forgotten to watch her interview.

And he didn't even know why he cared.

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**I hate these chapters. More than you do, really. When I wrote the first draft of this, Chapters 1-11 were the last ones I wrote. Because they're BORING, that's why. I hated writing them more than you hate reading them. Once we get into the arena, then you'll see my true colors, my GOOD writing, shine through.**

**Quick poll (because my poll button doesn't like me) –– What do you think of Petronius x Juno? Cute? Could never happen? Any comments? Questions? Reviews? *ahem***

**Read, review, and recycle! By recycle I mean favorite and/or follow, because then people who go to your profile will see this story... what? I have to advertise. I know, I'm pathetic... ^_^**


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

There was one person who had not forgotten, though –– Katniss Everdeen. She had heard the name Artemis Gossamer from Petronius himself when they were discussing potential alliances. She was curious, because Petronius had said not much about her. He almost seemed to be avoiding the subject entirely.

When the temporary television studio had been cleared out, Katniss sat in front of the television to watch Artemis's interview. As the interview started, Katniss started to wonder if she was watching the right interview. Yes, Caesar had said Artemis Gossamer. Katniss had imagined her as a graceful young woman about Petronius's age, with deep, beautiful eyes and a solemn smile.

Artemis was none of these except for young. The girl was no older than fourteen, and actually quite undignified looking. She was petite, but was still a shade too thin even for someone who was naturally small. She was dressed in skinny jeans, a black tunic, and socks. No obvious attempt of alteration was made on her face, but her short, neatly trimmed dark hair was a bit damp. Katniss noted that even though many of the Capitol tributes still had streaks of color in their hair, she saw nothing in Artemis's. Her lips were curled up in a devious smirk, as if she was calculating how fast she would be able to drop a firecracker down Caesar's pants and flee the crime scene. As she listened and spoke, Artemis rolled a coin over her knuckles. Caesar tried not to notice, but every so often he would keep looking down at the coin, flipping almost hypnotically over the fingers of her hand. Every so often, she would subconsciously switch to her other hand. It was almost mesmerizing.

"So, Artemis," Caesar began, trying to ignore the coin. "I've heard that you're pretty smart for a girl your age. Can you tell us, exactly, how smart?"

Artemis pursed her lips. The rolling coin never missed a beat, and at that moment, she flipped it to her left hand. "That depends. How long do we have?"

Several people off-screen laughed. Caesar nodded. "I see your point. Can you name one of your achievements?"

"I hacked into Vice President Angelico's computer database at age eight."

Katniss wasn't sure who Vice President Angelico was, but the Capitol people sure did. Several people in the room gasped, someone whistled. Caesar's eyebrows rose. "Did you have a reason for doing this?"

"Boredom." This drew a couple laughs.

"And what did you find?"

"Records of the first rebellion."

More gasps. Caesar exhaled. "Wow. Is that why you have been something of a… rebel?"

"It was part of it. The real motivation came two years later." The coin flipped back to her right hand.

"What was that?"

"When I ran away."

Stone cold silence. Then Caesar asked, "Why did you run away?"

Artemis smiled faintly, yet humorlessly. "I'm not entirely sure why I ran away in the first place. Most children reach that stage of supposition some time in their life, that they hate their family and can survive on their own. Mine came later than most, but contrary to the others, I actually had the means to provide for myself. So, when I said I would run, I really meant it."

"Where did you go?"

"District 11. Ironic, right? A Capitol representative for District 11 who has actually been there."

"How did you get there?"

"Let's just say that my father never saw that plane again. I had crashed my ride, a single-seat flyer, in one of the fields. The district people found me unconscious and dangling upside down from my seat belt, and when I came to, a woman was treating my injuries. She didn't ask any questions, and when I felt better, I left. I survived on the streets for a time, honing my skills as a thief. But the second I saw an exit, I made my way back to the Capitol."

"How did you do it?" Caesar asked, breathless.

"A tribute train. They were transporting a boy named Thresh and a girl named Rue." Here Katniss inhaled sharply. "The Capitol attendants didn't see me, so I just slipped on. The two tributes found me, though, when I tried to…ahem, liberate something to eat and something to wear. They didn't tell anyone about my presence, and hid me until we arrived at the Capitol. I returned to my father. I told only him my story, and even then I omitted the parts about the two tributes. But what harm can be done by telling the information now? They're both dead."

She caught her coin in a clenched fist and looked right into the cameras, seemingly locking eyes with Katniss. Then she turned back to Caesar and continued.

"When I returned, my father tried to convert me back to the ways of the Capitol. But there was always something that was different inside me. I had a new perspective. I had seen what the district people were going through; I had been the lowest of the low myself. I did a little more research –– all right, maybe it was a little more like hacking –– and found what I wanted. I cannot say that I agree with the Mockingjay and her rebels. And I cannot say that I disagree with them entirely. But I can say this –– that my view of the government changed dramatically."

All was silent. Katniss barely even breathed. "Is there more?" inquired Caesar after a five seconds' quiet.

"More of what?"

"More of the story. Is that the end?"

"No," said Artemis crisply. "It's not the end. There is no such thing as the end of the story, at least until the time to pass on comes. My story will continue until I am dead and forgotten by all living minds. There is more. It just has not been told yet."

Her speech silenced anything else anyone had to say. No one spoke, so she did. "You are lucky that I dared tell you and all of Panem what little I did. That much in itself is an amazing thing."

Caesar nodded slowly. "Well, I think our time is up," he said, standing up and holding out his hand to Artemis. "Best of luck to you, Artemis Gossamer, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

"I don't need the odds, or luck," said Artemis after she shook hands. "I only need my wisdom and my secret weapons on my side."

When Artemis left and was replaced by a stocky, ginger faced young man about Petronius's age, Katniss turned the television off. She sat there for quite a while, wondering about Artemis –– and how much the girl really knew.

* * *

***yawns***

**I can't wait for the next chapter… at least that one's semi-suspenseful. Kind of.**

**Maybe I should have blended this one and that one?**

**Nah.**

**I like torturing you guys.**

**If you review you get an ice cream cone.**

**O  
****V**

******See? The O is the scoop of ice cream, and the V is the cone.**

**Petronius: Can I have one?**

**Me: No.**

**Artemis: What about me?**

**Me: No.**

**Caius: What about me?**

**Me: No.**

**Jack: What about ––**

**Me: Hey! You're not even in this story! Get out!**

**Jack: Can I still have an ––**

**Me: No! Get back to Rise of the Guardians, where you belong!**

**Jack: B-b-but… your ROTG/HG crossover…**

**Me: I don't care about the crossover right now… you still don't belong here.**

**Jack: *hangs head***

**Me: Suck it up, Ice Princess. You can make your own ice cream.**

**Jack: Oh yeah, I never thought of that… AHH! *runs away from ice-cream hungry Petronius, Artemis, and Caius***

**Petronius, Artemis, and Caius as they chase after Jack: MAKE US SOME ICE CREAM!**

**Me: *calmly takes lick of ice cream***** Remember kids… review.**


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Katniss must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew someone was draping a blanket over her shoulders. She jolted awake and in the process almost broke Peeta Mellark's nose with her head. The surprised boy, for he was little more than just that even now, barely managed to evade her violent and sudden awakening.

"Oh. It's just you," said Katniss with a sigh.

Peeta shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah. I just wanted to check up on you."

Katniss rubbed her eyes and glanced at the wall clock. "How long was I asleep –– oh. Four hours."

"Did you stay up to watch Artemis's interview?"

"Yeah."

"I can't believe she met Rue."

"I know."

"Did you see Caius's?"

"Why? Who's Caius?" The name rang a bell, but Katniss couldn't place it.

"District 4 male representative. Caius Adrian Angelico."

"Oh, him. Petronius said he tried to get him as an ally the other day. No, I didn't."

"What about Iris's?"

"Iris?" It took Katniss a little while to remember the name. "Iris Snow? The President's granddaughter?"

Peeta only nodded in response.

"No. Did you?"

"Yeah." Peeta sat down on the couch next to Katniss. "And they're showing repeats now. Caius's is scheduled to be on again in three minutes, and Iris's is right after. Nice coincidence, huh?"

Peeta got himself and Katniss glasses of warm milk, then they settled down to watch the interviews. And for the first time, they saw Caius. Like Artemis, he was nothing like they were expecting. But unlike Artemis, he not only seemed to be indifferent about his public appearance but absolutely oblivious to it. No, not oblivious, exactly. Defiant, possibly. Or maybe he just didn't care, and liked to show how much he didn't.

If Katniss had seen him on the streets, she would have locked the car doors. The boy, who couldn't have been much older than fifteen, didn't even sit properly. He didn't seem to care. His skinny legs were pulled up towards his chest, and when they weren't, he leaned forward on the chair and balanced in a crouch on his toes. His outfit was even more casual than Artemis's, with just baggy jeans and a loose white tunic. Also like Artemis, he didn't show any signs of self alteration of any kind, other than a tiny black diamond tattoo on his ankle that Katniss only glimpsed once when the hem of his jeans shifted. The purple shadows under his unblinking dead eyes and his long, tangled black hair gave him the appearance of one who had just gotten out of bed, but hadn't gotten much sleep in the process.

"That's Caius?" she asked cynically. Peeta only nodded in response. "Petronius said he was scared by him. No way."

"Yes way," said Peeta. "Just keep watching."

Caesar Flickerman seemed to be trying to make a connection with the boy. He failed miserably. Caius was taking on the indifferent, somewhat hostile angle, which made things hard for the jovial interviewer. He didn't divulge into any personal information, and when Caesar asked about these things, he either said nothing or gave some sort of acerbic, sarcastic remark, many of which drew laughs but all of which he did not smile at himself. This in itself was not very strange, especially for a boy like him. "Why are you showing me this again?" asked Katniss about halfway through the interview.

"Just keep watching," said Peeta mischievously. This in itself made Katniss suspicious, but she kept watching. The only particularly interesting thing she had noticed so far was that the insomniac boy never blinked…at least, not that she ever saw.

The interview started to end. "Best of luck to you, Caius Angelico, and may the odds be ever in your favor," said Caesar, standing up from his chair.

Lithely, Caius leapt down from his strange perch on his chair and landed noiselessly on the floor. Standing up straight –– _straight _being only in comparison to before, seeing as he had a tendency to slouch and showed this tendency now –– he nodded sharply and shook hands. But as he was walking out of view, he turned around and said, "Oh, Caesar."

"Yes?"

"I think you forgot something." As Caesar frowned, Caius flipped a small silver object to Caesar, who caught it in the palm of his hand. As the boy swiftly ducked out of view of the cameras, Caesar stared at the object in his palm. "What is it?" Katniss asked, echoing several people off-screen.

Caesar answered this when he held the object up. "My ring," he said in awe. "My silver ring. He… he stole it."

Someone asked, "Is that legal?" to which Caesar laughed and replied, "Who knows?"

At this, Caius's interview ended. Peeta started to laugh, and Katniss stared at him. "You made me watch this kid's interview just for that?"

"Yeah," replied Peeta with a grin. "You're just jealous, aren't you."

"Why would I be jealous?"

"That you didn't think of it first."

"Think of what first?"

"You're avoiding it. Stealing Caesar's ring, that's what."

Katniss turned a deep shade of red. "Let's just watch Iris's and get it over with."

The television had already switched. They both recognized the screening room of Level 12, where Caesar and a tiny girl in a simple white dress were sitting. The girl looked about ten, and had long blond hair that still had a few streaks of pink mingling among the gold. "That's Iris," whispered Peeta.

Katniss could not help but stare. "No. She can't be." Her voice was small and hollow, like a sad child's.

Peeta nodded sadly. "Yes. That's her. Iris Medea Snow, eleven years old, sixty-two pounds, four feet six inches. Odds are given sixty to one."

"Not in her favor," murmured Katniss. "What are we doing, Peeta?"

Iris reminded her of Prim. At that age, they were very similar in stature and appearance. And Rue… Katniss could barely think of her. A girl a year younger and half a foot shorter had no chance.

The interview was starting. Iris sat with her small pale hands in her lap, looking very tiny on the large couch around her. As Caesar began to speak, she was very quiet and polite, answering as simply as she could. Katniss observed that Caesar avoided any questions about her grandfather, and made a mental note to talk to him about that later.

From the interview, Katniss learned that Iris was, as Petronius had said, very skilled in the medical field. She was also an archer, though she mentioned the fact once and with little elaboration. She was an elusive fighter, liked to climb, and was a fast runner. For such a small girl, she seemed to have maybe, possibly, just a chance. Katniss caught herself hoping that tiny Iris would survive.

_No. She's the granddaughter of your worst enemy. She's no better than he was._

The interview soon ended, and Peeta turned off the television. Katniss was almost asleep, curled up against his chest. He could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness, and he swore that he had literally just fallen asleep when, a second later, his cell phone rang.

Peeta had discovered the things when he was in therapy in the Capitol. As soon as he got out, he had bought one. It was a sleek, black device, like nothing he had ever seen before. He had instantly fell in love with it, and checked it at least twice a minute for messages or updates. On this particular occasion, he had forgotten to turn it off, and the loud ringing awoke both of them, not to mention Petronius and Augusta in their rooms down the hall.

Annoyed, Peeta checked the screen. A message was blinking on the screen, from Haymitch: _Artemis is gone._

"Stay here," ordered Peeta, standing up.

"What is it?" asked Katniss, not referring to the phone but to the message that Peeta had received.

Peeta raced into the elevator. "Nothing good, I'm guessing."

* * *

Katniss followed him anyway, despite his order. And Peeta did not object. Even though the chivalrous thing to do would be to let her stay behind, he knew that Katniss did not think much of chivalry and could hold a fight on her own. _In fact,_ he reasoned, _if it comes to a fight, Katniss might have to protect ME._

Then his sensible mind took over. Most likely there would be no fight. Artemis was just missing, that was all. Maybe she had traveled up to the roof for a breath of fresh air –– if one could call the smog of the Capitol _fresh._

The elevator ascended and stopped at level eleven, where the couple got off to see a very frazzled-looking Haymitch Abernathy and the strangest group they had ever seen. Beetee was there, and Johanna and Plutarch Heavensbee. A gray-uniformed rebel guard stood behind a stocky, ginger-headed boy who must have been the other District 11 representative, Cornelius, and who was wearing nothing more than night-clothes. "Gone," Haymitch kept saying to no one in particular. "She's gone! I was just getting up for a drink –– "

"Of water, I hope," interjected Katniss dryly.

Haymitch, obviously very tired, snapped his fingers and pointed at the former tribute. "Yes! Yes, water. That's what I meant."

"You better have," said Peeta.

Haymitch sent the boy a loathing glare. "Don't you trust me? No? Good policy. _Anyway… _I was just getting up for a drink _of water_ –– " those words were stressed with a pointed look at Katniss " –– when I passed Artemis's bedroom and saw that the door was open a crack. She usually keeps it closed and locked from the inside when she's asleep, and when I looked inside, her bed was empty. It was disguised so it looked like she was in bed, but I know that trick."

"Any idea where she went?" asked Johanna. Haymitch swung to her, obviously exasperated.

"If I had any idea, I wouldn't have called you here, would I?" he practically shouted.

Johanna rolled her eyes. "Just asking."

"Then don't!" yelled Haymitch. Several people jumped at the sudden volume, but then, coincidentally, the elevator dinged and slid open.

And Artemis Hecate Gossamer, with her hands cuffed in front of her, stepped out of the elevator with four rebel guards in tow. She wore nothing but gray sweatpants and a black shirt, and even though her hands had silver shackles around them she held herself with dignified posture. Her calculating brown eyes swept the room, scanning the occupants.

"Artemis," said Haymitch, striding towards her.

He stopped when she replied in the same even tone, "Mr. Abernathy."

Haymitch stared at her. "Where were you?"

Artemis gave a sly smile. "Out for a walk."

Plutarch Heavensbee strode forward and pushed Haymitch out of the way. "What happened?" he snapped. This question was more aimed towards the frazzled guards behind Artemis rather than the girl herself.

"We found her trying to sneak into the Control Room," replied one of the guards. "She was armed only with this." He held out a small, matte silver device, about nine centimeters long and four centimeters wide. Plutarch hesitated, and then drew his hand back.

"What is it?" he asked, and at this Artemis audibly snorted.

"What is it?" she repeated scornfully. _"What is it?_"

Plutarch glared at the girl. "You sound as if you could answer that question yourself."

She met his glare without flinching and hesitated purposely before replying. "I could. That doesn't mean I will."

"We did a quick scan on it, sir," said the guard. "There are no traces of explosives or any kind of hidden blade, but rather an abnormally high amount of technology. It is not a weapon, sir, but some kind of interceptor. Possibly an advanced scrambler."

Sharply, Plutarch snatched the device from the guard and examined it. "What does it do?" he asked, more to Artemis.

She gave a jaded, uncaring smile. "Why do you care, Mr. Heavensbee?"

"Mr. Heavensbee" met her dark eyes with a scowl. "What were you doing in the Control Room with it?"

"Really complicated stuff. 'Nough said."

"How did you get in?"

Haymitch's eyes widened, and he started turning his pockets inside out frantically. "Uh… keys…"

That jaded smile was back, this time strengthened with a hint of mischief. Plutarch was on the edge of losing it. "Where did you get this device?"

The smile grew wider, but colder. "I made it."

Now there was a piece of information, if it was true. Plutarch didn't bother pursuing it. The odds of it being a lie were too great. He could tell, even without knowing what it did, and simply by the almost nonexistent weight and slender design, that this was no simple toy. This was an extremely complex piece of technology. Artemis, however smart she claimed she was, could never build something like this on her own. He decided to go back to the original question. "What is it?"

Artemis let out a short bark of laughter. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Answer the question, Miss Gossamer," said Plutarch in a deceptively calm voice.

That indifferent smile was back once more. But it never reached her eyes. They were as cold as ice. _"I don't see why you need to know."_

Plutarch couldn't take it anymore. With a dramatic flourish, he lifted the silver device and dropped it to the ground. The casual grin on Artemis's face vanished like a snuffed out candle, and she actually flinched as it clattered on the floor. Even the spectators of this strange encounter, especially Beetee, tensed up. But the sturdy little disk did not break, and Artemis relaxed.

At least, until Plutarch positioned his booted foot over it. "No!" yelped Artemis, jerking from her guards' grasps. But they were too strong, and pulled her back.

Plutarch, with his foot still hovering over the fragile-looking device, smiled ominously. "Interesting," he mused, partly to himself. "It must be important. She knows that even though it can withstand shock very well, it's not durable enough to survive the pressure of a human's weight."

Artemis couldn't seem to help herself. "Not yours, at least," she said, trying to sound strong and indifferent, but the faint wavering in her voice gave it all away.

Plutarch gazed at her loathingly. "You're fighting for your device by calling me fat?"

Artemis did not reply. Her face was now an inscrutable mask. But the trembling of her thin shoulders gave what was underneath the mask away.

"One last time," said Plutarch. "What is it?"

The girl swallowed once, bowed her head, and whispered something no one could hear.

"What?" snapped Plutarch.

"It's a control disk," said Artemis aloud.

Three of the twelve people in the room knew exactly what this meant. One of them was handcuffed, another had his boot over the device in question, and the last, Beetee, was too stunned to move.

Cornelius, the other District 11 representative who had, until this point, been completely quiet, cleared his throat in the awkward silence and said, "Um… translation, please?"

Artemis didn't lift her head. "Using it, I can control the Games."

* * *

**Reference point for the control disk, because I don't think I described it very thoroughly: think a silver iPod nano. Work from there.**

**Sorry if Plutarch is a bit OOC; he doesn't really have a personality that's defined in the books so it was hard for me to portray him correctly. Heck, none of the characters really had prominent personalities, except for Johanna and maybe Haymitch… ever notice that?**

**Two updates, no reviews. T_T Make me stop crying, or I will stop updating. TT_TT I'm sorry! I know I'm a hypocrite! Please don't kill me! But you can flame me all you want!**


	10. Chapter 9

**Thank you, jakefan, for reviewing! SOMEONE has sympathy!**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

**District 11 Tribute Train, three years previously…**

She was staring at him again.

Thresh couldn't help but be slightly unnerved by it. He couldn't see her from her hiding place underneath his bed, but he could feel her piercing eyes as they followed his every move. Right now he was sitting on the small couch of his sleeping quarters, watching the replays of the reapings on the television. He knew that the girl –– alias Kale Ponderosa, real name Artemis Hecate Gossamer –– was also watching the reapings, but her eyes were more focused on him.

Unanimously, they had decided that Rue would slip food for the young fugitive, while Thresh gave her protection and a place to hide. If she was discovered, Thresh would have better chances of lying, and fighting if it came to it than tiny Rue would, and quite frankly he did not trust this disheveled Capitol girl to be alone in the same room as Rue, especially with that knife on her personage.

But he could tell that even though Artemis tried to hide it and actually succeeded quite well, she was more scared of them than they were of her. There were things that she wasn't telling them. How she had gotten onto the train. How she had somehow disabled all the cameras in the rooms she would be in. How, exactly, she had gotten to District 11 in the first place. She never addressed any of these topics on her own, and when either of her protectors tried to ask, she turned hostile and stony silent.

Thresh focused back on the television. Right now, they were showing the reaping from District 12, and the commentators were remarking on how unusual it was for there to be a volunteer. Thresh was pondering this for a few minutes until he registered something faintly in the fringes of his consciousness. Maybe it was a tiny sound, or maybe it was that unidentifiable sixth sense alerting him of something unusual, but when he turned his head he found that Artemis had somehow appeared behind him and was staring at the television with those large, curious, intelligent brown eyes. She was balancing on one foot, with the other propped up and pressed against her knee. One hand hung limply at her side, and the other was crossed over her chest and holding the opposite arm. It was a very peculiar and precarious position. Artemis noticed Thresh looking at her and held up her arms in a "what?" gesture.

Thresh only shrugged. Artemis retreated from her strange position and dropped her bare foot back down to the floor. It was strange, thought Thresh to himself, that instead of fussing about her appearance and changing clothes immediately, Artemis had remained in her rags and dirt. She was wearing nothing more than a tattered linen tunic, cross-bound leggings, and her knife in its sheath.

"It's for your own good," she had said to Rue. "If I get caught, and I'm wearing clothes from your wardrobe, they'll be suspicious of you. But if I'm in this, I can claim that I've been hiding the entire time and that you haven't helped me at all. And it'll be believable, so long as you stay with it."

Instead of retreating back under Thresh's bed, Artemis surprisingly circled around the side of the couch and sat next to Thresh. She hugged her legs close to her chest, then leaned forward and balanced entirely on her feet as she crouched on the cushions, as if ready to spring up into the air at any moment. In this strange position she sat, eyes trained on the television screen. The replays of the reapings were over now, and they were showing the highlights of the previous Hunger Games. Thresh reached for the remote control to turn it off, but Artemis raised her hand and said one word. "Wait."

He glanced at her. Her gaze was entirely fixated on the gory scenes of the Seventy-Third annual Hunger Games, which flashed across the screen. "Why?" he asked.

"You don't have to watch," said Artemis. "Just wait."

Thresh watched anyway. On the screen a clip of a Gamemaker-made storm was showing, and Artemis seemed extremely interested. Her mouth opened a bit as she watched. "Wouldn't it be amazing," she whispered, mostly to herself, "if one could have the technology to override the Gamemakers' commands and control the Games?"

Thresh just stared at her. "What do you mean?"

She returned his gaze calmly. "What if someone could cancel what the Gamemakers make in the arena and control the Games themselves?"

"Well, first they would need to answer the question of how the Gamemakers make it in the first place," remarked Thresh.

Artemis actually seemed a bit impressed. "Very good," she said, "but that question has already been answered. And from that answer we get the more important question –– not how do the Gamemakers make the simulations, but how do they send the commands to make the simulations in question?"

Thresh understood about half of it. And yet at the same time he understood entirely. He knew what she was getting at, and he knew it could be big. The glint in her eyes was enough to tell him that. He had a creeping feeling he knew what word would be used to describe such a venture, but it wasn't confirmed until Artemis said it herself.

"It would be _revolutionary,"_ she almost whispered, not out of fear but out of giddy, almost insane defiance. "Think about what would happen if such a device got in the hands of the district people, or even the tributes themselves –– "

"That would be horrible," blurted Thresh. "It would be the Dark Days all over again. That's treason at best."

She cocked her head. "Is it? It is merely an idea. I have heard about the strains of 'treason' and rebellion in the districts. I have heard about the oppression and the hunger and the sacrifice; I have witnessed it firsthand. I have heard about the injustice, and about the growing tension. I am merely stating that in order for that tension to reach its full effect, the districts need something to set it off. I am only giving one idea of how to light that fuse."

"So _you_, a _Capitol citizen_, are telling _me_ that your idea could start another rebellion?"

She gave a small, dry laugh. "'Capitol citizen'. Oh, how you say that title so accusingly, as if it has meaning. Just because I am from the Capitol doesn't mean I necessarily agree with their principles. But do not suppose that just because I spent nearly a year in your district under the burden of poverty does not mean I necessarily agree with all of your principles. Truth to be told, I agree with neither side completely. The Capitol wishes for a complete dictatorship. The districts wish for complete anarchy. Neither will succeed in the long run. A republican form of government is required; we just do not have it yet."

"What kind of government is that?"

"A government where the people rule through an elective system. If you study ancient history, you will find that the governments that allowed the people relatively free rein lasted the longest and were the most prosperous, and they only fell when either their system started turning into something that it wasn't supposed to be or when another country took their freedoms away. The Capitol officials, namely President Coriolanus Snow, want us ditzy Capitol people to remain in the oblivion about these facts, which is why ancient history is not taught in schools. But hotwiring holoboards is not taught in schools either, and yet I learned how anyway. Sometimes one just needs to know where to look to find the right information."

Her unnerving smile, paired with the devious glimmer in her eyes, gave Thresh the impression of a madwoman. Artemis was not whom he had at first thought. She was not just intelligent. She was a genius, whether it be for good or ill. "People have tried it before," she continued after a long pause. "They've never made a truly good one, because they were spending all of their time trying to figure out how to hack into the Capitol's security and hiding from Peacekeepers. But I already know how, and am still a child. And as a bonus, also the daughter of the fourth most blameless man in Panem. Suspicion can't be drawn to me, and if it is, Daddy will just bribe the officials."

Thresh raised an eyebrow. "Who's your father?"

She did not hesitate. "Treasurer Apollo Gossamer. Everyone loves him because he gives out money."

Thresh considered this. "That would make sense."

"As soon as I get back," said Artemis, mostly to herself, "I'll try to find the others' research notes –– at least, the ones that weren't destroyed. Maybe then, once I have the general idea of how to make one, I can build one of my own. And maybe, when the time is right, I can place it in the hands of a tribute who will use it. And maybe, if I play all of these cards correctly, change might come."

"What is 'it'? That thing you're going to build?"

That unsettling smile was back. "A control disk."

* * *

******Let's see if I can hit the 10 reviews mark! I know there are that many people reading! (I think...) Yes, I know I have 8 right now! T_T For that reason, I cry...**

**If I get at least two before my next update, the reviewers all get strawberries, given personally by ME! ****All you have to do is review, and they're yours!**

**Caius: Hey! Those are mine!****  
**

**Me: Correction: those _were_ yours. Until I took them.**

**Caius: I was going to eat those... I hope the reviewers like them.**

**Me: At least, if there are any reviewers...**

**Caius: Nice attempt at optimism.**

**Me: Shut up.**


	11. Chapter 10

**Yay! Strawberries to jakefan and missbookworm13, who reviewed!**

**C3{ C3{**

**(I know, they kind of look like radishes instead, but my greater-than less-than signs don't show up, so I had to use Cs. Just take my word for it when I say they're strawberries.)**

**Caius: Oh yeah, they're strawberries. They're**_** good**_** ones too.**

**Me: Stop whining. It's a good thing you're not in this chapter.**

**Caius: *glares* I should be in **_**every**_** chapter. I'm awesome.**

**Me: Stop being so egotistic and go sit in your corner!**

**Caius: Yes, mother…**

**Me: Shut up.**

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**Chapter 10**

**Level 11 of the Training Center Tower, the present**

At this, nobody spoke. No one present, save three, had ever heard of such a thing before.

"How did you find out?" asked Plutarch in an ominously low voice. "About the others?"

Artemis looked up, and met his gaze. "The Capitol wanted us not to know about the others who had attempted something of this level of subversion," she said. "Naturally, I just had to figure out why for myself."

"What happened to them?" blurted out Katniss Everdeen, for which the majority of the people in the room glared at her for.

But Artemis was not part of that majority. "Executed for treason," she replied in a deceptively level voice. "Imprisoned. Turned into Avoxes. Sometimes all three, not particularly in that order. There have been seventeen attempters, and all I had to do was take their notes, modify them to my standards, and construct an upgraded version of their models. And for this, what will I get? The same punishment?"

"Why did you do it?" interrogated Plutarch, with his boot still over the control disk.

"For the same reason Katniss and Peeta resorted to using the nightlock."

Cornelius, Artemis's district partner, snorted from the back of the room. "Love?"

"That wasn't truly why they did it," corrected Artemis, meeting Katniss's eyes. "They did it to show their manipulators that human beings can't be controlled."

Everyone was silenced once again. A chill trickled its way down Katniss's spine as one thought ran in circles in her mind. _She knows._

"Did you make the control disk before the war?" asked Plutarch when he regained the ability to speak.

"Of course this was before the war," said Artemis, breaking Katniss's gaze. "I wouldn't have had the time or opportunity to do it afterwards. I ran the final test during the Quarter Quell, with the tsunami wave. I managed to make it several feet taller." It would be an understatement to say that for this, she looked quite proud.

"What were you planning to do with it in the arena?"

"At best, get us all out of there before the gong sounded by lowering us on our plates back into the Launch Rooms, remotely sealing the holes, and programming the countless pieces of technology above us to explode and destroy the entire arena. And if that backfired on us, at least I know that all of us dying together in defiance would be better than all of us dying separately in vain."

Plutarch raised an eyebrow, then leaned down and picked up the control disk. "May I please have it back?" asked Artemis politely. At this the Head Gamemaker only laughed.

"Have it back?" he chortled. _"Have it back?_ No," he snapped, his mockingly cheerful voice taking on a hard, cold edge. "This is a very complex piece of technology. It does not belong in the hands of a child playing a dangerous game."

Artemis's brown eyes widened. "Please," she begged. "Don't do this. I need it."

"No, you don't," said Plutarch, striding away towards the elevator. "Beetee, keep it safe." He tossed it precariously over his shoulder, and the District 3 man caught it.

"What should I do with it?" he called after Plutarch.

"Don't let her have it back," replied Plutarch as the elevator doors closed.

Beetee, with the silver disk in hand, glanced at Artemis. She returned his gaze pleadingly. "Please."

He averted his eyes. "No. I'm sorry."

"Haymitch!" gasped Artemis. But her mentor only avoided her gaze. "Johanna?" The young woman shook her head and turned her back. "Cornelius…" The stocky boy had already returned to his room. "Peeta?" The Boy with the Bread hesitated, then lowered his head. "Katniss."

And somehow, Katniss found that she couldn't turn her eyes away from Artemis. Artemis, once so strong, now reduced to no more than a child whose toy was being taken away. "I can't," Katniss said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "It's not my problem anymore. It's your Hunger Games now."

The victors and the guards, minus Haymitch, started to disperse towards the elevator. Haymitch only ordered the guard behind Artemis, "Take her to her room. Lock the door from the outside if you have to."

The man did so, finding that the once-struggling and surprisingly strong girl was willing and weak. Something inside her seemed to have broken. As he led her into her room and took off her handcuffs, there was no resistance. Instead, she looked at him with those wide, glittering brown eyes and asked one question in a small, childlike voice. "Why won't they help me?"

The guard hesitated before replying. "I don't know, child. Just try to get some rest. You have a big day ahead of you."

"I don't know either," she whispered as he left. "I don't know how I'm going to survive that day without it."

He inhaled sharply, then shook his head and closed the door. Behind the locked door, in her dark room, Artemis sank to her knees. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she held her hands in her lap as a tear traced its path down her cheek.

Then her hands clenched into fists, and her eyes opened. But they were no longer large and innocent. They were dark and unforgiving.

_Fine, then,_ she vowed. _If they won't give me back my control disk, I am just going to have to find a way to get past them without it._

* * *

**So? What do you think? I want opinions, people! No opinion is stupid! Just voice them! Tell me if you're confused about anything! Tell me what you think is going to happen! Tell me what you think of the characters! Tell me if anyone's a Mary Sue! Tell me if you like cake! Tell me who's your favorite OC so far! Tell me what you think of my writing style! Tell me if you get the PJO references (small ones, nothing big or necessary; but it might become more obvious in chapter 29) ! Come on! Tell me! And if you say you can't think of anything to tell me, I will bombard you with options… you don't want to be bombarded, do you? Bombardment is not fun… be warned ^_^**

**Me: All right, everybody! On three! One, two, three ––**

***cricket, cricket***

**Me: You were all supposed to say, "Review!"**

**Petronius: But we didn't.**

**Me: Exactly!**

**Artemis: What motive should we have to do so?**

**Me: …**


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Petronius awoke before the sun had even come up. A familiarly pretty blond lady, not much older than him, was standing at the foot of his bed, holding a silver tablet. "Time to wake up, Petro," his stylist said in a singsong voice. "Today's the day!"

Petronius mumbled something unintelligible about sleeping in, and then asked, "The day of what?" Juno rolled her eyes and helped him out of bed.

She led him and a sleepy-looking Augusta, also in her pajamas, to the elevator. They rode up and emerged on the roof, where there was a hovercraft waiting to pick them up. Petronius placed his hands and feet on the rungs, and the electric current froze him into place. When he was pulled inside the hovercraft, a woman came and injected a tracker into his arm, then moved on to Augusta. They were released, and Juno led them both into a small dining room. Petronius was strangely calm, and tried to eat as much as he could. Augusta did not eat anything save a pancake and a glass of orange juice.

"Try to eat, Augusta," said Petronius as he stuffed another waffle down his throat, washing it down with a swig of milk.

She didn't meet his eyes. "I'm not hungry."

"This food might save your life in the arena," he said. "See, I'm eating."

"You're always eating."

He realized her valid point and nodded. "True."

"I'm too nervous for food." That was one thing Petronius liked about Augusta. She wasn't afraid to speak what she felt.

"Well," Juno interjected, "who wouldn't be?" Then she cast a meaningful glance at Petronius and added, "No offense."

"None taken," said the boy as he reached for the syrup and another waffle. "I'm a growing boy. I need a lot of food."

Augusta and Juno exchanged a glance. The younger girl shrugged.

After about an hour, the windows blacked out and Juno led Petronius and Augusta to the ladders. Petronius went down first, and sometime during the journey from the underground tube to the Launch Room he realized that Augusta was no longer with him and Juno. His stylist explained that Augusta was going with her own personal stylist, and that the next time Petronius would see her would be in the arena. He did not find this particularly comforting.

In his Launch Room, Juno helped him shower, clean his teeth, and dress. He was slightly uncomfortable at the prospect of being helped bathed by a woman, but they both knew it was protocol during the Hunger Games. When Juno stepped back, she showed him his own reflection in a full length mirror.

Definitely a forest arena, Petronius thought as he examined himself. He was wearing dark brown cargo pants, a black t-shirt, a camouflage jacket, and a leather belt. On his feet were boots that looked fit for either hiking or running.

"You look ready to go," said Juno. "Now all we have to do now is wait."

They waited.

It couldn't have been long enough.

It wasn't.

When the polite voice over the loudspeakers told them that it was time for launch, Petronius immediately stood up. He sat down just as fast, because his legs felt like gelatin. He was literally shaking, partly from the cup of coffee that he had inhaled earlier but mostly from nerves. Seeing his discomfort, Juno knelt in front of him and took his hand.

"Look, I know this is going to be outright terrifying," she said in a low voice, "but you have to go." Petronius only gulped over the lump in his throat and nodded. "Remember what Katniss told you. Run away from the Cornucopia. Find water as fast as you can. Food comes next; maybe you can build a snare. Then you can find weapons."

"Katniss never told me that," Petronius said.

"Well, I'm telling you now," replied Juno determinedly. "They're going to have a sword there. Don't go for it, okay? You'll just be killed."

Petronius nodded, and Juno gave a weak smile. "Hey," she said. "It's okay. You're going to make it out alive. I have faith in you."

He could only nod again. She grasped his hand and helped him up, steadying him on her shoulders as his knees wobbled. "Juno," he said in a small voice, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but… I'm scared."

She tried to smile again. "I know. But you're brave, too. I know you are. You just have to find that courage."

And then, unexpectedly and impulsively, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Good luck. Find a way out, and we might just see each other again."

Petronius could barely breathe as she guided him into the Launch Tube. And it was hardly from fear.

This breathlessness of happiness changed into the breathlessness of uncontrollable terror when the glass doors closed. Frantically, he looked back at Juno. She gave only a small, weak smile, and then hung her head.

Petronius's world, reduced down to a glass cylinder barely large enough to let him move, was then plunged into darkness.

Remember, dear reader, Petronius had many phobias. Claustrophobia was one of them. Not to mention that this small space led to an arena where he might likely die. To prevent the oncoming hysteria, he squeezed his eyes shut and hugged himself in his own arms. He had forgotten completely that this tube would be going outside into the arena, with twenty-three other tributes and dozens of cameras, but he didn't care at the moment.

He knew he was out in the arena when he felt the sunlight on his cheeks, followed by a gust of crisp wind. A millisecond after the realization struck, a loud voice announced over the speakers,

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Capitol, let the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games begin!"

* * *

**Review otherwise I will put this on a one-week hiatus. And when we're at this part, that's the last thing you want. I still have one hundred and seven pages left of this (when it's on a Word Doc). Twenty-six chapters. You don't want all that awesomeness put on hold, now do you? Don't say I won't do it! Because I will. And I will make you suffer for ONE WEEK. MWAHAHAHAHAHA! (One week because I highly doubt that I can keep it for longer than that. I enjoy updates even more than you guys do. Probably. In which case, if it is true, that the chicks and dudes out there like my story better than I do, they should really review. If they don't, they should review anyway.)**

**Moral of the story: REVIEW.**


	13. Chapter 12

**You can thank CR3ATIV3, ****who cared enough to review even the filler chapter! Why should you be grateful? Because if I didn't get that review, I would have no motive to update so early.**

**BTW, now that the action is starting, I will be updating every other day. HAHA! Maybe if I get enough reviews, I'll alleviate your pain occasionally... ^_^**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

Petronius released his claustrophobia-induced grip on himself and cracked open his eyes. Blinding sunlight forced them shut again, and when he managed to redeem his sight completely he looked around. They were in a forest, in a large clearing, which was littered with the stumps of trees and fallen logs for extra obstacles. Overhead, the sky was blue with puffy white clouds and the blazing sun. The fresh green leaves on the trees, paired with the crisp smell of wind and the damp smell of rain, gave the impression of springtime.

There was the Cornucopia, with its overflow of life-sustaining goodies. This year there almost seemed to be more than usual, especially weapons. Lots of weapons, and there –– ! There, literally leaning against the Cornucopia itself, was Petronius's sword, the same one he had used in the Training Center. Its silver pommel reflected the sunlight and seemingly winked at him. Coincidence? He thought not.

He would have to run. He was a fast runner, it was true, but was he fast enough? There was also the risk of the obstacles littered around the clearing. One wrong move, one wrong step, and the representative of District 10 would be seen in the sky at the end of the day. He decided to risk it. No one, except maybe Julius and his cocky crew of "Elites", would dare challenge the swords master who got a ten in training. Then, after he got the sword and maybe a couple more supplies, he would run for the forest and scream like a little girl. The perfect plan.

_"They're going to have a sword there. Don't go for it, okay? You'll just be killed."_

He knew that Juno was probably watching him now, wondering how he was going to act. He also knew that she was probably thinking, _That stupid Petronius. He's going to go for the sword, isn't he?_

He had to agree that she was probably right.

He glanced at the clock. Thirty seconds before the horn would sound. His pulse started to quicken and suddenly, he wished that he had not eaten so large of a breakfast. His eyes darted around anxiously at the other tributes. The lean, muscular Julius was three plates away to the left, his eyes set on a large battleaxe nervously close to Petronius's sword. The slender, graceful Cynthia was five plates away to the right, gazing lustfully at a silver bow and a sheath of matching arrows. The skinny, awkward Caius, on the plate next to Petronius, seemed to be calculating the best course to take to reach the small black backpack and the short black sword next to it. The petite, anxious Augusta was trembling in fear as her brother gestured with his hands towards the deeper part of the forest directly behind them. The tiny, blond-haired Iris was turned completely in the other directions, preparing to bound into the trees. And the lithe, calm Artemis, almost directly across the clearing from him, wasn't aiming towards any particular weapon, tool, supply, or even general direction, but scanning the tributes as he was. Their gazes locked, and she inclined her head. Even from that distance, Petronius could see her dark eyes glittering with that maliciously strange light. Or maybe it was just the reflection of the sun. Either way, he was unsettled, and averted his gaze uncomfortably.

He knew that one minute should be up soon. He had been standing there far too long. But before he could even look up at the counting clock, the horn sounded and reflexively, Petronius leapt off his pedestal like a deer. With long, leaping steps augmented by higher jumps to clear obstacles he sprinted towards his sword and scooped up a large green backpack as he went. He was only three steps from the weapon when something large and powerful slammed into him, sending him sprawling. He and his attacker, whom he identified as Lucius, fell to the ground and rolled together, each grappling for control over the other. But eventually Lucius made it on top of Petronius and raised a dagger. In the brief moment before the knife started to descend Petronius instinctively lashed out with his right arm for a weapon and coincidentally found his hand on the hilt of the sword. It was still inside its sheath, but when Petronius raised it like a club Lucius scrambled out of the way. In his opponent's moment of distraction Petronius grabbed Lucius's dagger, got himself up and darted away from the Cornucopia, into the woods.

He stumbled through the forest blindly, without a clue in the world as to where he was going. The tortured screams of dying children rang in his ears. A painful stitch started to form below his ribs, but he didn't stop running. It was only when he heard the distinctive cannon shots that symbolized the end of the bloodbath did he stop. He looked around to find a tree where he could rest. He found one with thick branches and hoisted himself up as far as he dared. As he climbed he counted cannon shots. He numbered only eight. So either everyone in the arena was skilled or evasive fighters, which was highly unlikely, or many people chose flight as their first option of survival.

It was only then, once he was nestled in the tree, that he realized how exhausted he was. His mouth was as dry as sandpaper. He clipped Lucius's knife and his sword into his belt, then hefted the backpack onto his lap and unzipped it, taking out the contents. First he pulled out a coil of rope, a small pot of greasy white medicine, and a small hunting knife with a sheath, which he slid onto his belt next to Lucius's dagger. He found a tall aluminum water bottle with absolutely nothing inside –– _what's with that?_ Petronius wondered. He next found a package of beef jerky, a loaf of bread, and some crackers. Last he found a heat-reflecting sleeping bag.

He quenched his thirst temporarily by swallowing saliva, then replaced everything, excluding the knife, back into his backpack and climbed down from the tree. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he died of thirst, so the first thing he should do would be to find the life saving resources. Prioritize, he said to himself. Water would be the first thing to look for, because one could survive for weeks without food but only a few days without water. He knew it flowed down and that high hills or even mountains were the best place to look for springs and rivers, but this year's arena was as flat as a pancake. He would have to just keep walking and hope for the best.

Luck was with him. After about a half-hour's hike, he found a river that broke swiftly over clusters of rocks. It seemed to be flowing fast enough to be clean. He knelt by the river and tentatively brought some to his mouth. It tasted fine to him, so he drank some more and filled his water bottle. He decided to travel upstream to see what he could find. Just before nightfall he reached a freshwater spring, from which bubbled the river's beginnings. Clustered around the spring were dozens of large rocks and boulders. There were several caves carved out of the rock walls and Petronius decided that caves were a good place to start. They would hide a fire and provide adequate shelter.

From the mouth of one of his caves he watched the nightly death toll as he cooked a rabbit, which he had been lucky enough to catch in one of his crude snares, over a small fire. The sky showed the pictures of the eight tributes who had died that day –– Livius and Aelia representing District 3, Tertius and Sabina representing District 5, Valerius the District 7 boy, Iovitan and Horatia representing 8, and Flavia the girl for 9. He felt a strange, gnawing sorrow in his chest. He had known some of them.

"Well, at least it's not us, right?"

Petronius jumped and whirled towards the source of the voice. Caius was sitting next to him, as casually as if he had been there all along. Petronius scrambled to his feet. He had already drawn his sword and now held the razor-sharp tip of the silver blade at Caius's neck. Caius watched Petronius calmly, not flinching or even blinking –– had he ever seen the kid blink? Creepy.

"What do you want?" demanded Petronius bravely, even though his body and voice shook.

"Nothing that you have," replied Caius evenly. Petronius noted how the younger boy's palm rested easily on the hilt of a short sword.

"How did you find me?" asked Petronius.

"No comment."

"Are you a friend or an enemy?"

"Double no comment."

Petronius slowly lowered his sword. "Fine. I'll go. You can even have my rabbit. Just promise that you won't try to stab me in the back as I walk away."

"I cannot answer to that promise."

Petronius was now getting officially annoyed at this boy's evasive answers and now had a sufficient excuse for leaving. He backed away slowly with his sword outstretched, and then picked up his backpack. Then, before he could tell himself not to, he hefted the pack over his shoulder and ran.

When Petronius was out of sight, Caius fingered the small knife he had stolen from the larger tribute's belt. _Sometimes,_ he thought, _size and strength aren't everything. Sometimes you just need a thief's skills and a whole lot of luck._

* * *

**If you review Petronius will give you one of his cookies… see? Here's one, just a sample (::) no taking it, not yet… you get it when you review :P**

**Petronius: Give me back my cookie!**

**Me: It's for the readers…**

**Petronius: I. Don't. Care. Give me back my cookie.**

**Me: Fine. (gives him back cookie) The readers can have Caius's blueberries instead. (*) (*) (*) (*) (*)**

**Caius: HEY! GIVE THOSE BACK!**

**Me: They're for the rea –– ahh! *runs away being chased by a very scary insomniac with a very scary sword* Don't forget to review! Next update is Thursday unless I reach the twenty review mark! *shouts as she runs***


	14. Chapter 13

**Cookies and blueberries to jakefan and CR3ATIV3, who reviewed! (no tributes were harmed in the stealing –– er, acquisition of these food items)**

**(::) (::)**

**(*) (*)**

**Caius and Petronius: You're welcome...**

**Me: They're just being sullen and moody, dears. Ignore them.**

* * *

**Chapter 13**

Petronius didn't know how long he stumbled blindly through the forest. But he did know that his journey ended abruptly when a tree seemingly appeared out of nowhere and, suddenly, he found himself on his back rubbing a sore forehead. Dazed, he tried to get up and almost crashed into the same tree. He was really dizzy now. A nap sounded really good.

The world spun around him as he yawned and gave into the blackness.

He woke up to blinding daylight and a debilitating headache. He blinked and sat up. His backpack had mostly cushioned his backwards fall, but his head hurt now in two places –– where it had knocked against the tree the first time and where it had bounced off a rock as he fell. Groaning, he stood up. The sun, peeking through the trees, told him that it was sometime around noon. He was hungry. But he knew that there wasn't much food in his backpack and that saving it until he really needed it was a better idea.

Then he heard the rustling of leaves and a snapping twig. Reflexively he dropped his backpack, leapt up, and brandished his sword. He almost cleaved the small girl behind him in half, but then he recognized her and lowered the weapon. "Augusta?"

"Petronius?" she replied. Petronius dropped his sword and hugged her tightly.

"I'm so glad you're safe," he murmured into her hair.

His district partner drew back from the hug. "He's coming for me," she gasped. "That's why I was running. I didn't see him in the cave and he attacked me. I had to run."

Petronius noticed the thin cut on her cheek and wiped the blood away with his sleeve. He scowled as he realized who had attacked her.

_In the cave…_

As far as he was aware, no one else knew about the caves except for Caius.

"Then stay behind me," he said determinedly. "I'll fight him myself."

"You're not going to kill him, are you?"

"If I have to," he replied, grasping his sword hilt tightly, "I will."

"He's my brother," Augusta said, her voice shaking. "You can't kill him."

_My brother…_

"Amadeus?" Petronius said doubtfully. "Not Caius?"

"Caius?" Augusta repeated. "Who said anything about Caius?"

Petronius opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it and chose something else to say. "No one," he said. "The important thing is, you're safe."

She hugged him again and started sobbing. "I…I don't know what happened to him," she whimpered. "He wandered off during the middle of the night, and I was searching for him until I found the caves. He was hunched in back of one, over what looked like a dead body, laughing. And it wasn't his laugh. And then he turned around and drew a sword. He didn't recognize me, even when I told him I was me. And his mouth… blood dribbled from his lips, and something blue. Pieces of berries, I think they were. He started to laugh again, and I was so scared I couldn't move. Then the dead boy behind him groaned and stood up. I think it was that Caius boy you were talking about. He had blood on his head and a cut on his arm but was alive, at least he acted like he was. He's so pale I couldn't tell at first. He knocked down my brother, took his sword, and said something like, 'That's my sword!' And then I ran. I couldn't help it. I was so scared, and both of them looked like they were going to kill me. Ama…Amadeus came after me. The pale boy chased him out, but I don't think he knew that he would follow me. And he did. He almost caught me, but…I made it away. Oh, Petronius, I don't know what's wrong with him."

Petronius hesitated, then said, "I think I do."

She looked up, sadness in her large hazel eyes, and asked, "You do?"

Petronius was going to answer, but then he heard someone crashing through the leaves and looked up. Quickly he shoved Augusta behind him and drew his sword. Amadeus stumbled out of the leaves in front of Petronius. He was barefoot and shirtless. There was a long, thin cut along his bare chest, but he did not seem to notice at all. His maddened eyes locked with Petronius's and he let out a guttural, almost feral laugh, blood dribbling down his chin. The red substance was mixed with specks of blue and Petronius instantly realized that his theory had been correct.

Amadeus leapt forward, his knife gripped tight. Petronius tried to dodge him, but Amadeus was fast. He plowed into Petronius's stomach and sent him crashing to the ground, momentarily winded. Petronius's sword clattered out of his hands. Amadeus raised his knife, but Petronius remembered his other knife, the one he had snatched from Lucius in the bloodbath, and grabbed it. A desperate slash to Amadeus's cheek and a shove to his chest sent the boy tumbling. But before Petronius could get up and grab his sword, Amadeus had disappeared like smoke on the wind.

Petronius replaced his knife with his sword and scanned the shrubs around him carefully. Amadeus's strange, animal laugh echoed throughout the trees. A lone cannon sounded, causing him to jump, but when he turned around Augusta was still alive. He held his sword tighter and gazed back into the trees. The laugh came again, right behind him, and out of his peripheral vision he saw a flash of movement and a figure running towards him. Before he could think fully he thrust backwards with his sword into the stomach of the person behind him and drew the bloodstained blade out. A wide-eyed Augusta dropped to her knees.

Petronius's sword fell out of his hands as he realized what he had done. "Augusta!" he cried, catching her body as she fell. Her face was pale; her hands fluttered around the possibly fatal wound in her stomach. Her lips moved, but no sound came out, and almost too late Petronius realized what she was trying to say.

"Behind…you," she managed to whisper.

Petronius lashed out with his fist and caught Amadeus in the kneecap. He stumbled but made no sound, and Petronius managed to wrestle the knife out of his wrist as he pounced. Now he remembered fully. Amadeus had most likely eaten the _naevlynd_ berry, a scientifically-mutated form of poisonous berry that caused madness, hallucinations, memory loss, and an unnatural desire to kill. The only way to reverse the affects…

Only part of Petronius knew what he was doing when he gripped Amadeus's knife and drove the blade right into the boy's heart. Immediately he stopped thrashing. His face went white and his eyes widened. The _naevlynd_ would keep him alive for a little while longer, then it would fade and so would he. Only after Petronius struck the final blow did he regret it and wish he wasn't so stupid.

"No…" Amadeus whispered as everything he had done flooded back to him and started to make sense. "What have I done? Augusta…"

Then Amadeus's eyes glazed over. His cannon sounded, and Petronius was reminded of Augusta. He rushed to her side, his hands fluttering over the lethal wound in her stomach. She was still alive, but barely. Her lips formed inaudible words, and Petronius had to lean in to hear her. Tears dripped down his face.

"I'm so sorry," he choked over the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry…"

She reached up with one thin hand and touched his cheek. "It's not your fault," she whispered. "It was theirs… the rebels."

Her eyelids fluttered and her hand fell limply. Petronius grabbed her wrist and tried to feel her pulse. Nothing. Augusta was gone.

Her cannon fired, but he barely heard it. Slowly, calmly, he zipped up her jacket, covering the wound, took her small backpack, and lay her still body next to her brother's. He did not want Amadeus's knife, but when he looked at it more closely, he noticed that it was the same knife Caius had stolen from his belt. Stolen once by a thief, stolen a second time from the thief, and now back in the original owner's hand. Angrily, he snatched it up and hurled it at the nearest target he could find, the trunk of a dead, splintered oak tree. The blade lodged into the dry wood with terrifying accuracy and force, but Petronius was in no mood to admire his handiwork. He drew his sword and started hacking away at the thick, grayish trunk of the dead tree, and once his anger was spent, the tree looked even more dead and desolate than before. Dried out, lifeless, and wounded. Just how he felt.

As he was preparing to leave, he noticed the blood on the keen blade. Augusta's blood. He took his sleeve and wiped the blade clean, but as he was finishing, the edge accidentally sliced against the palm of his left hand and he winced. Blood for blood. It was only justice. But he didn't deserve such a light punishment for what he had done. He looked back at the dead girl on the ground. It should have been his body lying there. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

He left the two siblings' bodies where he had laid them and kept hiking. All of his focus was on his thoughts. He didn't care about his hunger. He didn't care about his thirst. He didn't even care about the two minor, but bleeding wounds on his arm and leg from the fight with Amadeus or the cut on his hand. He almost didn't notice the silver parachute until it was right in front of him. He picked it up. Inside the capsule was a small loaf of bread. A consolation present from the sponsors.

Moodily, he ate the entire loaf and washed it down with a gulp of water from his bottle. He took the time to pull the tiny jar of medicine from his pack, spread the substance on his two wounds, and wrap them before he kept going. He didn't know how long he hiked after that, not knowing where he was going, not caring. Yet another cannon sounded, but he hardly even heard it. He couldn't take his mind off of what he had done to Amadeus and Augusta. He had killed both of them. And he felt horrible about it.

* * *

**I know… wimpy chapter ending. Whatever.**

******If I can reach 20 reviews, I'll post tomorrow!**


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**What happened before and meanwhile...**

Caius had not known what was happening when, out of the blue, the half naked boy tackled him outside his cave. He had been merely sitting there, sharpening his sword and watching the gurgling water from his self-claimed spring, when the kid had jumped from the tree and knocked his sword out of his hand. At first, Caius was too stunned to do anything, but then his fighting instincts took over. He managed to fend himself off long enough for his brain to process all that was going on, and then his defenses became less instinctive and more tactical.

He knew at once that this boy was a victim of the _naevlynd_ poison –– the dilated pupils and the strange, jerking actions gave what signs he needed to determine this –– which would give him extreme endurance and unnatural strength. He wouldn't last long against the mad boy. Just as he had been thinking it, Amadeus slammed a rock into Caius's head. Before the rock had connected with his head, though, Caius had managed to partially deflect his arm, slowing the momentum. It was lucky that he had done so, because a rock traveling at a speed and force like that would have otherwise smashed his skull to pieces. Instead, it struck only a glancing blow and Caius fell limply to the ground, out cold.

* * *

The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back inside his cave. Amadeus was standing above him, holding a sword that Caius instantly recognized as his. It was held with the point resting on his chest, and when Amadeus saw that Caius was awake and breathing, he started to laugh insanely.

That was when the girl entered and saved Caius's life.

Amadeus would have delivered a death blow to Caius, just a simple thrust through the heart, if it hadn't been for her. "Amadeus?" she said. Amadeus swerved around and held up Caius's sword. "Amadeus? It's me, Augusta," the girl said. Caius wanted to yell to her. He wanted to tell her to run. But he couldn't do anything. Amadeus had one foot resting on his stomach, and when Caius tried to breathe in, he stomped down and drove the breath from him.

"Amadeus?" Augusta said again warily. "Are you all right?"

Then Amadeus started to laugh. He took his foot off of Caius's stomach, and started to laugh even harder. The girl at the mouth of the cave seemed petrified. "AMADEUS!" she shrieked, but her brother did not respond. He approached her, with his sword held up as if to attack, and that's when Caius got up.

Amadeus didn't see him. With all the strength he had, which was surprisingly much for his skinny frame, Caius shoved him down from behind. The weapon fell out of Amadeus's hands as the boy stumbled. "Give me back my sword," Caius growled, scooping it up by the hilt. He didn't mean to be threatening towards the unfortunate girl, but when he looked at her, she gasped and ran out of the cave. "Wait!" he called. He tried to go after her, but in that moment of distraction he had forgotten about Amadeus and was suddenly shoved down from behind, just as he had done to Amadeus only a second before. The lithe, bare-chested boy leapt over Caius and sprinted after Augusta with the agility and speed of a deer, drawing a knife from his belt. Caius recognized it as the same knife he had stolen from Petronius, and was filled with a familiar rage. So he scrambled up and went after him. He knew that, in the Games, it was better to leave a dangerous assassin alone to his prey, but he couldn't let the girl get killed.

They plunged into the woods, but Caius was far behind them. Augusta was completely gone, and Amadeus was only a shadow now, and when he took a turn through a patch of bushes, Caius lost him. He scanned the trees desperately, but it was only when he heard the scream that he knew which direction Amadeus and Augusta had gone.

He raced off in the direction of the shriek. When he reached the victim, he found that it was not Augusta but another girl, his district partner and older cousin Callia. She was doubled over on her knees, clutching a wound on her stomach. Caius raced to her side.

"Callia!" he gasped, kneeling next to her. "Let me see it. Are you okay?"

"What do you think? A crazy wackadoodle with a knife and no shirt just let my intestines out," she groaned, withdrawing her arms to show the wound. "Would _you_ be okay?" She sounded more annoyed than in pain.

Caius winced more than she did when he saw it. "I think you don't have long. You've lost so much blood."

"Thanks, Doctor," she said sarcastically. "Your diagnosis is so helpful."

"I'm serious."

"That's your problem. I only have a few more minutes. Give me something to laugh at."

Caius couldn't help but smile at Callia's sarcastic optimism. "I'm not sure how to say this next."

"Say what next? That I'm about to die, so you'll be saying your last regrets to your dear cousin who you almost never talked to?"

He bowed his head gravely. "Yes."

"So get it over with!" she snapped. "Let me die while I'm still in a good mood. Even though you're quickly changing that," she added sourly.

Caius couldn't stop the sad grin or the tears that followed. "I'll miss you too, Callia."

The hard façade fell, and his cousin smiled faintly. "Same. Win the Games for me, okay?"

"I'll try."

"And try to do it without letting that Artemis girl die. She's cute."

"Only one of us can win, Callia."

"Only? Katniss Everdeen proved that 'only' is overrated."

Caius considered this. "True."

"And if not, I'll see you soon." He found her grim humor funny in a sick way, but it wasn't particularly uplifting.

"Can't you die peacefully?" he asked, a tad impatiently. He hated goodbyes, and actual tears were starting to pool in his eyes. "None of the other tributes joked on their deathbeds."

"This ain't a normal Games, boy," Callia snapped, not even noticing the dribble of blood trickling out of her mouth. "This is the last. Now make it memorable. Make it yours. Ours. Theirs."

Her passionate voice started to crack and fade at the end, and Caius grasped her hand. "Callia!" he begged, but she was gone. The cannon fired.

Caius started to really hate that cannon.

* * *

**I feel ya, kid. I hate it too.**

**Caius: Shut up.**

**Seriously! I'm sorry for killing Callia. I really liked her, and I wish I could have gone deeper into her background, maybe made her more of a major character. But she didn't come in until the final draft, so it was kind of too late.**

**Come on! We can get to twenty reviews this time!**


	16. Chapter 15

**Hey there my lovely readers!**

**Just wanted to let you know, I will be updating sporadically within the next week or so. My birthday's coming up, and my aunt, uncle, and cousin might be coming over soon. And to boot, I'm getting my room re-painted, which is a larger job than one might think seeing as I have to take all of my stuff OUT of my room before I paint it, and trust me when I say that there's a lot of stuff. I'll try to update regularly, but sorry if I miss a couple days.**

**Here's today's! R&R please!**

* * *

**Chapter 15**

Darkness started to fall, and the blue sky started turning a beautiful shade of amber. Petronius kept walking. His feet were sore and blistering by this point, but the pain took his thoughts off Augusta.

Then he was jolted back into reality by a strange sound –– laughter. He turned around. Right behind him, probably a mere hundred meters away, he could see the silhouettes of six people. Julius's Elites, just what he needed. But there were only supposed to be five –– Julius, Cynthia, Marius, Lucius, and Claudia –– who was the sixth?

That didn't matter much to Petronius in his current state. He ducked behind the thick trunk of a tree and drew his sword slowly, breathing in and out as silently as he could manage and preparing for a fight. They hadn't seen him, but if they came any closer he was sure to be discovered. Running was not an option; they would probably see him and Cynthia, who was legendary with a bow, would stick him like a pincushion with arrows. There was only one option left –– to fight.

Their voices got closer, and soon he could make out individual words. A voice that sounded a lot like Julius grumbled, "Hurry up! We don't have all day!"

Then a clear female voice that Petronius recognized as Cynthia's said, "Um, news flash, genius, the day's over. The sun went down five minutes ago."

Claudia, immature as she was for her fifteen years, snickered and Lucius, also immature for his sixteen, said, "Burned, man. She got you there."

"What are you morons _doing?"_ snapped a strangely familiar voice.

"What, us?" asked Lucius.

"No, I'm talking to the other morons who are yelling in my bloody ear! What do you think? Yes, you!"

"Do you want us to be quiet?" asked Cynthia.

"Yes. Shut up. I'm concentrating."

"I think I'm going to play a trumpet," Claudia said, obviously trying to stifle a giggle.

There was a short, stony silence, then the female voice snapped harshly, "Look, princess. This isn't as easy as it seems. _You_ try tracking someone in near-dark with five idiots laughing in your ears!"

"Artemis is right," Cynthia said. "If all of us don't stop teasing her, we're probably going to wake up with knives sprouting out of our chests, or not wake up at all."

Petronius's head started to spin. Artemis! Why would she join the Elites? It was already clear that she was a loner, and yet now she was siding with them? Why? And how did she convince them that she was on their side?

"Thank you, Cynthia, for that very encouraging threat highlighting my violent tendencies and anger management issues," said Artemis sarcastically. "You know what, I'm calling it a night. I can't track in the dark, and I think we're all tired."

Everyone muttered assent and Petronius could hear them sitting down on the ground and making a fire. He didn't dare move out from behind the tree. By the sounds of it, they were no more than three meters away. His stomach started to growl and his bladder tightened, but he ignored both of the uncomfortable sensations. The anthem started to blare throughout the arena, and Petronius looked up to see the faces in the sky. The Districts 4 and 7 girls. Those were the other two cannons that had fired that day. And then Amadeus, and Augusta. Petronius almost sobbed when he saw her face.

But he bit his lip and stayed quiet until it was evident that the Elites were asleep. Summoning up the courage, he peeked out from behind the tree. Everyone was asleep except for Julius, who was on guard duty and looking the other direction, and Artemis. She lay on the ground facing Petronius, with her back to the fire and the rest of the Elites. Her eyes were closed, but suddenly they flicked open and settled on Petronius's. He gripped his sword and waited for her to awaken the others, but instead, the barest wisp of a smile danced across her face as she silently brought her index finger to her lips. Then she closed her eyes again and dropped her hand, in a perfect imitation of a sleeping girl.

Petronius took this as a sign that he should run. So he did. As quietly as possible, he fled away from the camp. Once far enough away, he found a place to hide for the night. More accurately, it found him. He fell in it. It was a shallow ditch, concealed by springy shrubs. After knocking his head for the third time in the Games, he fell asleep instantly.

* * *

Cynthia was the first of the Elites to wake up. She shifted and tried to rub her eyes, but then found something extremely odd –– her hands were tied in front of her, bound with thick rope. Her ankles were similarly fastened. She struggled against the bonds and flailed her head wildly, glancing at her allies. They were all asleep, but they were also bound like she was. Her backpack, bow, and sheath of arrows, which had been beside her while she slept, were gone, as was the dagger that she had kept in her belt. And Artemis was nowhere to be seen.

"All right, who was on guard duty?" she barked. Instantly, her allies started awake, spluttering vile curses when they found that they could not move their hands and legs.

Marius looked away sheepishly. He seemed to have been leaning against a tree when he fell asleep, because his bulky arms and entire torso were looped to the tree trunk with rope. "Sorry."

"Where's Artemis?" shouted Claudia. "She set us up!"

"For once," scowled Julius, trying to untie the tight bonds around his hands, "Claudia's right. I _knew_ we should have never trusted that thief!"

"She did lead us to Titania," Lucius pointed out, "and personally killed her. Why did she leave now?"

"Because we were close," replied Cynthia coldly. "I could tell. We were closing in on the Petronius boy, I heard it in her voice. She stopped us before we could get to him and made a break for it with our stuff before we woke up."

Julius muttered a very bad word in Latin. Those there who spoke Latin did not disagree.

"She took my spear," murmured Claudia, sounding like a hurt child.

"That's not our problem right now," interjected Lucius. "We need to escape first, and then we can worry about weapons and food. We'll just get more from the Cornucopia."

"Easier said than done, Lucius," Cynthia rolled her gray eyes. "Artemis is the best tracker I know and someone who knows how to follow people must know how to avoid being followed."

Then Claudia let out a yell. "Hey! I got it! I got my ropes off!" Sure enough, she had managed to untie the ropes around her wrists and was now trying to saw through her ankle bonds with a jagged rock. She helped Cynthia, and Cynthia helped Julius, and soon everyone was freed.

"Great," Lucius said sarcastically. "_Now _what do we do?"

"Wait a second," Cynthia interjected. "What's that?" She pointed to a large, flat stone that rested on the outskirts of the clearing, on which rested a bulging pouch and a note. She grabbed the message and examined it. It was written on several large strips of birchbark, scrawled out with a substance they all recognized as charcoal, probably from the fire. "Hey guys, check this out."

They gathered around her as she read the note aloud. " 'To my less-than-wonderful and purposefully temporary allies,' " she said, reading what Artemis had written, " 'I hope you understand that yes, I did, in fact, mean to harm you. I am sorry for the deception and hope that our next confrontation will be an honest head-to-head fight to the death. Please excuse my abrupt disappearance and my awful yet necessary habit of hog-tying my friends and stealing their life-sustaining supplies. In repentance for my wrongdoing, I present to you a gift. I give you this sandwich bag full of harmless berries. I hope you enjoy them. Not-so-sincerely, your deceiver and probable target, Artemis H. Gossamer.' "

Lucius snickered. No one else shared his humor.

"She had the nerve!" Julius snarled, ripping the note out of Cynthia's hand and tearing it into pieces. "If I ever get my hands on her –– "

"She left us berries," Claudia said dreamily. "And I'm so hungry…" She reached for the pouch and dumped the contents into her mouth.

"Claudia, no!" Cynthia shouted, her words falling on unlistening ears.

A minute later, the nightlock had finished its work inside of Claudia. The girl dropped to the ground, stone dead.

* * *

Petronius awoke to the boom of a cannon. Instinctively, he drew his sword and leapt up, then, realizing that there was no danger that he could see, he sheathed his sword, lay back down, and went back to sleep.

* * *

Up in the trees above the Elites' camp, two separate pairs of dark glinting eyes watched the entire scene. The owner of the first pair of eyes, a slight feminine figure clad in the subtle grays and dark greens of the forest, thought she was alone, unaware of the other pair of dark eyes. One thought ran through her head as she watched Claudia's body being taken up by an invisible hovercraft –– _Stupid girl. _She hadn't meant for anyone to actually _eat _the nightlock; it had been sarcasm.

The owner of the second pair of eyes, a boy clad entirely in black and the dark gray tones of shadows, kept his steady gaze on her as he perched in a nearby tree, as motionless as a stone statue. The first figure turned, obviously sensing the boy's gaze, and met his eyes. They stared at each other for a few seconds before turning in their own directions and melting back into the trees and shadows.

* * *

**I have something really important to tell you.**

**It's very important.  
**

**VERY.**

**So listen up.**

**Are you listening?**

**Are you sure?**

**REALLY SURE?**

**Okay.**

**Good.**

**Then I'll tell you.**

**Here it is**

**It's coming**

**You're getting warmer**

**You're getting closer**

**You're getting warmer still**

**You're almost there**

**I'm about to tell you**

**Okay...**

**Here it is ––**

**Ooh, chocolate!**

**I want some!**

**Oops, what was I talking about?**

**Oh yeah.**

**The super important thing.**

**Okay, I'll tell you now ––**

**REVIEW!**


	17. Chapter 16

**Here we introduce three new players to this dangerous game…**

* * *

**Chapter 16**

Iris Medea Snow had been wandering for several days. She was surviving just fine with her extended knowledge of nature, but she was lonely. There was no one around to talk to, no one to confide in, no one to impress with her skill in pretty much everything plant-related. She, like everyone else in the arena, was living with fear and caution, trying to stay hidden and alive. So it was a surprise to her when, on the third day in the arena, the same day that Artemis had left the Elites helplessly tied up in their own ropes, she spotted a pair of tributes stumbling through the trees. Quickly she scrambled up a nearby oak tree and hid in the leaves. She had no weapons, because she knew from watching the Hunger Games her entire life that a girl her size would stand no chance in the bloodbath of the Cornucopia, so she hoped that she would not have to defend herself.

From her vantage point she could clearly see the two tributes, who were stumbling her way. There was a boy and a girl, and Iris recognized both of them. They represented District 2, ironically. Their appearances and actions made them complete opposites of the past years' District 2 tributes. The boy's name was Romulus and he was twelve, but he walked in front of his fifteen-year-old sister Lystria bravely. Romulus carried a backpack and had a knife at his belt, but Lystria was unarmed. She trailed behind her younger brother nervously, casting uneasy glances over her shoulder.

"What if we run into the Elites again?" Lystria asked her brother in almost a whisper, as if she was afraid someone might overhear her. And, in fact, someone did. Lystria was not very good at whispering.

"It was nighttime then," said Romulus, "and Artemis was on guard. She let us go. We just have to be more careful from now on."

"What if Artemis tells them that we were there?" inquired Lystria nervously.

"She won't. Don't worry. Artemis didn't seem to care."

They stopped right underneath Iris's tree and sat down to rest. Romulus pulled a cracker from his backpack, broke it in two, and gave the larger piece to his older sister. "No, you take the larger piece," Lystria insisted. "I had the larger piece last time."

"It doesn't matter," her brother admitted. "That's the last one. Our food supply has officially gone kaput."

Then, as she watched, Iris felt a sensation she had never felt before –– pity. She wanted to help these two helpless siblings, even if it meant not coming out alive. Quietly she swung down from her branch and landed on the ground right in front of Romulus and Lystria. "I know where to find more."

The two tributes seemed startled at Iris's sudden appearance, but once they saw that she was smaller than either of them and unarmed, they relaxed. "Iris?" inquired Lystria. "You're alive? I didn't think you'd make it."

"My mentor said that maybe only four of the twenty-four tributes this year had any chance at all, and that three of them were Julius's gang," replied Iris. "I didn't think that any of us would make it."

"So…you were saying something about food?" prompted Romulus.

"I'm pretty good at this nature-survival thing," said Iris. "I've been living off wild plants for three days. If you want I can help you gather some."

Romulus shrugged. His sister smiled enthusiastically. "So it's an alliance?" she asked.

Iris hesitated. She remembered the last thing her grandfather had told her, when the rebels had allowed her to visit him for those meager five minutes –– _"Work alone. Show no mercy. Trust no one."_

Though her grandfather's words haunted her, she nodded. "It's an alliance."

* * *

**Sorry for the late update! I was a bit busy.**

**Also sorry for the super short, boring, and badly written chapter (this thing made it through all four drafts, and I was always too lazy to rewrite it)…I'll make it up to you. I promise.**

**Today is International Appreciate the Author of Fighting Fire Day! Write a review, favorite, and/or follow, otherwise the holiday people (led by ME) will chase after you while wielding pitchforks and torches… o_O**


	18. Chapter 17

**Thank you CR3ATIV3, the anonymous guest, and Immaguest (also a guest, if you couldn't figure out). Also, Immaguest, I do have chapters in Peeta's and Katniss's POVs. They're coming. Chapter 21 is the first one, and I have a few more after that. (25 and 27, I think… and 33 is from Plutarch's POV; no spoilers there, not really ^_^)**

**So here ya go! And know that THIS CHAPTER IS OUT OF CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER! (see bolded line beneath chapter #)**

* * *

**Chapter 17**

**A story of the past, told by the main character herself (also known as a flashback)**

The first thing Artemis Gossamer, representative of District 11, had done when she rose into the arena was decide on the best course of survival. The second thing she had done was run, and the third thing, which had followed in quick succession, was steal from several different people.

Because of the loss of her control disk, Artemis could no longer rely on a source of supplies. So she had to find her own. The answer? It was risky, but the results could be rather satisfying. She did it anyway.

The Elites had not even known that Artemis was there until they realized that their weapons were missing. On the second day in the arena, early in the morning, they had been taking a break by the river, and had opened their packs for some food. They had set their weapons down as they were resting. Just for a minute. A minute was all Artemis had needed.

Next thing the Elites knew, their weapons had been gone and Artemis was playing with one of Cynthia's arrows, up in a tree. She was standing on a thick branch twenty feet above them, leaning against the tree trunk as casually as if she was on the ground and leaning against a solid wall. They hadn't even seen her until she spoke.

"It is an interesting thing," she had said in her mocking voice, startling all of them, "that the human mind is hardwired to look around, down, and even inside other things –– but never up. It takes an intelligent mind to look up, and unfortunately very few people have the sense to do so."

Cynthia had reached for her bow, only to realize that she had no arrows to shoot with. All of their weapons were stuffed into a black backpack and hanging from a branch above Artemis. "What do you want?" Julius had snapped.

"Nothing that you have," replied Artemis, twirling Cynthia's arrow between her fingers like a baton. "I believe that the question would be, instead of what do _I_ want, what do _you _want?"

They all exchanged glances. "Our weapons back, for starters," Lucius said after a moment.

"And with what motivation would I be persuaded to give them to you?"

The Elites exchanged glances again. Julius answered in a classic Julius-style reply, "Because if you don't, I'll beat the crap out of you."

Artemis examined the point of the silver arrow in her fingers, using the razor-sharp head to pick at a bit of dead skin on her finger. "You're not afraid of hitting a girl?"

"Not in these Games, no," replied Julius, with some awkwardness.

She smirked. "Okay. Whatever."

As always, no one was really sure how to respond to a direct reply like this. Artemis did that to some people. The Elites looked at her for a while, then they gathered in a huddle.

"What do we do?" asked Julius in a low voice, so Artemis couldn't hear.

"I feel like we have exhausted all possible options by politely asking for our weapons back," said Cynthia sarcastically. "What do _you_ think we should do?"

"We can wait her out," Lucius suggested. "She can't stay up there forever."

"Or we could climb," said Claudia, but Cynthia shook her head.

"No. That's not a climbing tree. I don't even know how she got up there," she countered. "And none of us can climb. Not like that."

"So we'll wait her out?" asked Marius hopefully. "Then beat the crap out of her?"

"No," Julius said. "She has our weapons. While we're sleeping she'll take some of those knives or that bow and we'll all be dead. She has the upper hand here, and she's not letting us forget that."

"We could smoke her out," suggested Lucius. "Light a fire under the tree. Or set fire to the tree itself. That'd get her coming down."

Claudia's eyes lit up. "Fire? Really?" The fifteen-year-old girl let out the strange, guttural laugh of a madwoman. "I call dibs on lighting the stuff!"

Artemis cleared her throat. "Two things –– one, your pyromaniac tendencies are really freaky, and two, I stole your matches."

Claudia's face fell. "Crud."

"So we can't climb up and get her," Cynthia listed slowly, "or threaten her to come down, or smoke her out, and waiting for her to come down herself is definitely not an option. What do we have left?"

They all looked at Julius. His eyes darkened, and they all knew what he was thinking of. The last option was never a pleasant one. But with one reluctant nod, it was decided.

They dispersed from the huddle and looked back up at Artemis in the tree. She had replaced Cynthia's arrow into the sheath, which stuck out of the opening in the black backpack, and was now toying with a small knife, honing the edge with a whetstone. Her eyebrows raised inquisitively, but she never lowered the knife.

"We've decided," Julius said slowly and rather reluctantly, "that since you managed to outsmart us, we're going to let you into the group."

Artemis shrugged and looked back down to the knife in her hands. "Okay."

"There's just one thing," he added. "You need to answer one question."

"Fire away."

"Can we trust you?"

Artemis lowered the knife and the whetstone and met Julius's eyes. "If you have any reason to trust me, you aren't talking about me. Think about that."

They all exchanged glances again. This was getting way out of hand. Cynthia nodded. That was all Julius needed.

"All right," Julius said. "You're in."

Artemis only pocketed the whetstone, and then she kept examining the knife. If she had any sort of reaction to this revelation, she didn't show it.

"On one condition," Cynthia interjected.

Artemis sighed, not taking her eyes off the knife. "My entire life balances on conditions. It's the only thing people ever say when they give me something."

Cynthia ignored this and continued. "You give us our weapons back, we let you in. That's the deal. But there's a catch. If we catch you trying to slit our throats in our sleep, know that we'll be after you."

The elusive girl looked up with an unsettling smile on her face. "Thanks for the suggestion, but that's not my game. I don't plan on killing any of you."

With this, she sheathed her knife, reached up, and pulled the bag of weapons down. "You might want to step back," she advised as she dropped the bag.

When the bag hit the ground, everyone rushed forward to grab their appropriate weapons. The bag was soon empty, and they found that somehow Artemis had ended up on the ground next to them, leaning against a different tree with her feet now planted on the ground. It was uncanny, Julius had mused, how she could do that.

Artemis turned out to be very useful. She was extremely intelligent, able to identify every plant or animal they saw. Cynthia was a good tracker, but Artemis was absolutely amazing. She would look at a trail and be able to tell if someone passed by, and when asked how she knew, she would point out a miniscule piece of green thread caught on a leaf of the exact same color or a crushed plant in the middle of nowhere. They traveled this way, Artemis in the front and everyone else behind her, trying to limit the noise that their footsteps made to prevent her from being angered.

They didn't find anybody on day one, and since they were close enough to the Cornucopia, they returned to their main camp for the night. The Elites, when they thought that Artemis was not listening, unanimously voted not to let Artemis not take a night watch, at least, not until they could trust her. Artemis had not done anything suspicious that night.

The next day, with Artemis leading the way, they found their first target. The girl, who was about Artemis's age and the representative for District 7, had seen and heard the rest of the Elites. She had run, but she did not see Artemis, who was much closer. Before the girl could get away, Artemis had drawn a throwing knife from a hidden sheath in her boot and flicked it, sending it into the girl's thigh. She stumbled, crying out in pain, and Artemis pinned her down with a knife against her neck.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" shouted Julius. "Kill her!"

Her usually cold, hard dark eyes filled with warmth, and her victim saw the regret in them. Then Artemis managed two words that only she and the other girl could hear.

"I'm sorry."

Then, steeling herself, she yanked the knife across the girl's neck. The cannon fired.

Artemis had already stood up and retrieved her two knives by the time the Elites reached her. "Slowpokes," she grinned. When she knelt to wipe the ruby blood off of her silver blade, the false smile dropped and she let out a choked, hidden sob that no one except herself could hear.

_I miss my control disk. If I had it, this child would not be dead._

It wasn't the last time she would think it. And Titania, her first kill in the Games, would not be the only one she would think of it for.

Oops. I should have said "spoiler alert".

* * *

**Caius Adrian Angelico has no affiliation whatsoever with Caius the member of the Volturi in Twilight; the name is merely a coincidence. I haven't even read/seen Twilight, nor do I have any wishes to anytime in the near or distant future. (Sorry if I've offended any Twihards; I just don't like that kind of stuff.)**

* * *

**On a lighter note…**

**IT'S GAME TIME!**

**See if you can find the real word in the line of random letters below:**

**fjhjsmcbnreviewmbweuhuiodshjkbnsmashdfhj**

**Tell me what it is if you find it ^_^**


	19. Chapter 18

**Congrats to CR3ATIV3 and ImmaGuest, who found the hidden word!**

* * *

**Chapter 18**

**Present day**

On the morning following the day on which she had left her "allies" tied up in their own ropes, Artemis debated with herself on the subject of what to do with the Elites' weapons. All of their daggers she would keep for herself. But that was basically where her knowledge of weapons ceased. She couldn't shoot an arrow to save her life, so Cynthia's silver recurve bow was out of the question. Claudia's spears were also out, seeing as her favorite method of flight was climbing and it is hard to climb when one is holding a large stick in one hand. She was okay with a sword, but Lucius's blade was too heavy and not balanced right. And however wiry she was, she would never be able to wield Julius's battleaxe or Marius's club.

Her wily mind immediately dreamt up a small bit of mockery that she might be able to commit against the Careers. They had plenty of weapons and she knew for a fact that Julius had at least three other axes, but she thought that what she had in mind might be amusing to her. And she did love to be amused.

After abandoning the Elites, Artemis had scouted out a camp. Back when she had still had her control disk, she had virtually examined every acre of the arena. With the entire map of the arena in her hands, she had found two potential camps. Her first choice had been claimed by Caius already, so she reverted to using the second. It was a fifteen-by-ten-foot clearing about a quarter mile from the Cornucopia, which was dangerously risky. Artemis was willing to take that risk, as it was so obvious that they would never think to look. When she went out to "scout and liberate", she kept her belongings up in a tree. At night, she slept on the ground, comforted by the fact that she was a light sleeper and that any enemy that dared try to ambush her would probably wake her up before he came within striking range. As a precaution, she had even gone to the length of gathering dried leaves and brittle twigs, spreading them in a ten-meter radius around her clearing. She could think of only one person who might be able to sneak up on her during the night, and she didn't think of him as a threat. Not because he wasn't dangerous, but because she doubted he would come for her. At least, she was ninety-six percent sure...

So here she sat cross-legged in the center of the clearing, surrounded by packs and weapons that used to be the Elites'. She had sorted them stragetically, by placing all of the food items in one pack, the medical supplies in another, and so on. Now she was left with the weapons, which she was mentally labeling.

She would be ashamed to admit that when she heard the voices, she jumped a bit. But then again, these days she was as tightly wound as a spring. Her head instantly jerked in the direction of the voices, which were thankfully not coming from the direction of the Elites camp. In the distance, through the trees, she could see three tributes, all of them heading towards her. A flash of sunlight reflected off smooth, silvery blond locks of hair, and Artemis instantly recognized Iris. The other two tributes she was unsure about –– Lystria and Romulus, were they? She shrugged dismissively. They were no threat.

Quickly Artemis wrapped the weapons in a camouflage tarpaulin and concealed them under a log, then ghosted off into the woods in the direction Romulus, Lystria, and Iris were coming from. Might as well start gathering them up now, she mused to herself. Earn their trust while you can.

* * *

To Iris, Romulus, and Lystria, it seemed that the female District 11 tribute literally stepped right out of the trunk of a tree. The hood of her camouflage jacket was pulled up over her head, shadowing her eyes. Only one weapon, a knife, was visible, and it was sheathed, but no one had any doubt that it was probably not the only weapon and that if it was, it could be out in a heartbeat. When Artemis appeared, Lystria yelped and Romulus drew his knife, brandishing it out like a sword. But to their surprise, she only laughed.

"Relax! It's only me," she said, pushing back the hood of her jacket. She was smiling, but no one was comforted. Artemis's smile was never a reassuring thing, and she knew that full well.

"What do you want?" snapped Romulus boldly.

The smile dissipated like mist on the breeze. "Nothing that you have. Put your weapons down; I'm not going to hurt you. Not now, at least."

No one said anything. Artemis rolled her eyes. "None of you have weapons?"

"I have my dagger, my strength, my bravery, and my will to protect my friends and family," the boy replied.

"So in other words, no," she said. "Come on. Want to see my camp?"

Romulus's weapon wavered. "Is this a trap?"

"Don't be surprised if it is," she answered, turning and lithely stepping towards her camp again. None of the other tributes moved. Artemis glanced over her shoulder and smiled, a real smile this time. "I was kidding. Come on."

Romulus lowered his dagger reluctantly. "What do you want?" he asked again.

"I told you," Artemis said. "Nothing. Now do you want my help or not?"

The boy glanced at his two companions. They only shrugged. In unison, the three huddled into a circle and started talking among themselves, glancing every so often over towards where Artemis was leaning casually against an oak tree.

"It could be a trap," said Romulus.

"It probably is," agreed Iris.

"But Artemis seems so nice," protested Lystria. "And she let us go when she was working with the Careers."

"That's the part I'm worried about," her brother replied. "What if she's still working for them? What if she turns us in to them or slits our throats in the night?"

"None of us are going to win anyway," Iris pointed out. "Better sooner than later. And, as a bonus, that way it'll be painless."

The other two mumbled reluctant assent. "There's just something not right here," said Romulus. "In the beginning of the Games, she made it clear that she worked alone. Now she's pairing up with everybody, even the Careers. She's up to something… suspicious."

"I've met her dad before, tons of times," interjected Iris, "and he used to say that Artemis is always up to something suspicious. It's just in her nature."

Lystria shrugged. "I say we go with her. It's been clear that she's a thief. She can steal us food and weapons and supplies. I like her."

"I'm with Lystria," Iris added. "Now it's just you, Romulus. If you don't want to go with us and Artemis, you can go on your own way."

Romulus pondered this for a minute. "Fine," he agreed. "I'll go with you. But don't say I didn't warn you."

They turned to Artemis. "We've decided," said Romulus, who had been silently voted as the orator of the group. "You just earned yourself three more allies. Now where's this camp you're talking about?"

Artemis inclined her chin an inch. "Good choice," she said. "If you had not chosen that, I would have been forced to kill you. Come on."

Before they could interject, she bounded off through the trees and they had no choice but to follow. But almost as soon as they entered her clearing, Lystria stopped and cried, "Wait! I left my token at the river!"

Artemis turned her calculating gaze towards Lystria. "Your token?" It was a question.

She nodded earnestly. "Yeah. It was a gold bracelet my father gave me when I was seven. I took it off when we stopped at the river to wash up and left it on a rock. I need to go back and get it!"

Artemis thought about this for a moment. "Gold bracelet… yes. There were rubies on it, no? I remember it. Once I stole it off your wrist at a dinner party of my father's. Pretty thing, with beautiful filigree work. I could have pawned it off for quite a few credits, but I didn't think I should do that to you, poor, simple girl that you are…ah, were. You didn't even notice it had been taken off and put back on."

Lystria was panicking so much that she didn't catch Artemis's insulting mistake. "Oh, what if a bird carries it away? What if another tribute takes it? I need to go back!"

"Calm down, Lys, Romulus comforted. "We'll go back there, don't worry. Iris, Artemis, won't you two come with?"

Iris nodded and Artemis shrugged. "You'll need extra backup. Oh, and I almost forgot. You'll need something to defend yourselves, minus that toothpick you have, Romulus." Kneeling down, she dug underneath a certain log and drew out the wrapped bundle of the Elites' weapons. "Have fun." With that, she unwrapped the bundle and let the weapons spill out. At the sight of Cynthia's silver bow and sheath of arrows, young Iris gasped.

"No way," she breathed, picking up the bow. "Where did you get these?"

"Stole them," said Artemis simply. "Try it out."

Almost reverently, Iris slung the sheath over her shoulder and held the bow in her left hand. The bow was a bit too big for one of her diminutive size, but she did not seem to care. With alarming speed, she whipped an arrow from the sheath, nocked it to the string, and drew back with surprising strength. She raised the bow, aimed, and fired within the space of a second, and the arrow streaked through the air. It pinned the trunk of a tree ten meters away, and was quickly followed by two others that thudded right below it, forming a perfect triangle.

Artemis let out a low whistle. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

While Iris trekked over to the tree to retrieve her three arrows, Romulus and Lystria sorted through the weapons pile. The boy tried to pick up Julius's axe, but Artemis put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head. "Too unwieldy. Try a spear."

Romulus took one of Claudia's smaller spears, and Lystria selected Cynthia's long dagger. Artemis slid a small dagger into a sheath hidden in her left boot, and slung a twelve-inch fighting knife in a sheath over her shoulder. "We travel light," she ordered. "Leave your packs under the log. We'll come back, hopefully."

The three other tributes followed their guide and ally as she led them through the trees, into the deeper part of the forest by the river. She seemed to know exactly where they were going, but after a while she instructed Romulus and Lystria to lead. "You know where by the river you were," she said. "Lead on."

No one felt comfortable with Artemis behind them with at least three knives on her personage, but no one objected. With the two District 2 tributes leading them, they soon made it to the rocky bed of the river. Seeing a glimmer of gold out of the corner of her eye, Lystria started wading across one of the shallower parts of the river, giving the other three no choice but to follow. Once on the other side, Lystria snatched up her gold bracelet.

"Good, it's all right," she said gratefully, clipping it around her wrist.

"You got it, now let's go," replied Artemis impatiently. But when she turned around towards the river and the direction of her camp she found herself almost crashing into a huge wall. Except…it wasn't a wall. It was Julius, holding a new, and possibly larger, battleaxe over his shoulder. Cynthia, Lucius, and Marius stood behind him, weapons at the ready. Artemis looked up into Julius's furious eyes. "Oh…hello. Nice to see a familiar face."

"Is this where you were, Artemis Gossamer?" asked Julius, swinging his axe down from his shoulder and smacking the shaft against his hand. "Making friends with these losers?" All of the other Elites laughed as if that was the funniest thing Julius had ever said.

Artemis's brow furrowed as she backed up slowly, her arms outstretched as if to shield Iris, Romulus, and Lystria. "You know, that so-called and so-supposed 'joke' was so brainless that I am not even going to bother to deflect it."

Julius ignored that. "In your note, you said you wanted our next meeting to be a head-to-head-fight to the death," he said, stepping forward slowly.

Artemis never took her eyes off him, but out of her peripheral vision she carefully watched the other three Elites. "I may have written something of that nature. Why?"

A faint, yet ominous smile wavered on the edges of Julius's lips. "We're going to take that into effect."

The fourteen-year-old scowled. Then, without taking her eyes off the four Elites, she said one word. _"RUN."_

At that word, the monstrous Marius lumbered towards Artemis with surprising speed and swung down with his gigantic club. As Artemis rolled to the side to avoid the crushing blow, Iris, Romulus, and Lystria scattered. The two girls darted through the surprised ranks of Elites, splashed across the river, and sprinted into the forest. Romulus, though, stayed and gripped his spear. Artemis landed from the somersault on her feet, and Romulus rushed to her side.

"Plan?" he inquired.

Artemis didn't even ask why he wasn't running. "Yeah. Stay alive," and like an arrow from a bowstring she shot forward, her fighting knife in her right hand and her smaller throwing knife in her left.

Romulus shrugged. "If I'm gonna die now, might as well go down fighting."

* * *

**Sorry if this one's not the best; I've been feeling a bit foggy due to allergies and insomnia, so tell me if you see anything that I might have missed... *yawns* zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...**

**Artemis: Hey! Hey, wake up!**

**Caius: She's out cold...**

**Artemis: Who's going to say it, then?**

**Caius: I'll do it. Um, hi? Uhh... Sky says to review.**

**Artemis: Come on, you can do better than that. You've got to bribe them!**

**Caius: Uh... okay. If you review, I'll give you guys... uh... hugs?**

**Artemis: *facepalm***

**Caius: Maybe that's not enough –– ahh! *runs away being chased by a bunch of squealing fangirls***

**Fangirls: WE WANT HUGS! WE LOVE YOU CAIUS!**

**Artemis: *double facepalm***

**Sky aka me: (waking up) ... uh what...?**


	20. Chapter 19

**Me: Do it.**

**Caius: Why?**

**Me: You promised them…**

**Caius: I did not.**

**Me: Oh yes you did. Now DO IT.**

**Caius: *hangs head, blushing* Okay… *gives CR3ATIV3, A Stargazer's Lullaby, and krikanalo hugs because they reviewed***

**Me: *snickering***

**Caius: *scowls* What are **_**you**_** laughing at?**

* * *

**Chapter 19**

Faster than they had ever run before, Iris and Lystria fled through the forest. And, especially for Lystria due to her… *ahem* width, it was pretty fast. Both of them were too scared to look back, and they knew that if they did, they'd slow down and might get caught by whoever might be following them. This question of who was pursuing them was answered when suddenly, Iris felt an almighty tug at her jacket sleeve as her legs were suddenly swept out from underneath her. The silver arrow that had pinned her jacket sleeve to the nearest tree ripped through the fabric, but it had been enough to abruptly stop her journey. As Iris tried to scramble up and draw her own bow, Cynthia drew and fired in the space of a heartbeat. This arrow grazed her shoulder and pinned her coat and shirt to the tree behind her, and Iris couldn't pull it out. She watched, frozen in her terror, as Cynthia stalked forward contemptuously. Her hand drew back the bowstring, and without a hesitation she released it.

This, Iris knew, was to be a lethal shot, point blank range by Cynthia's standards. She watched the arrow fly at slow motion, as if it was traveling through syrup, and awaited the burning sensation she knew would soon come. But somehow, it never came. For, right before the arrow reached Iris's body, Lystria jumped. The arrow pierced her stomach, and she fell to the ground.

Iris yanked out the arrow that pinned her to the tree and took out her own bow, drawing and firing at Cynthia before she could do any more damage. But Iris's shot was rushed and she only startled Cynthia, sending the arrow whizzing a few centimeters over her head. In unison, Cynthia and Iris both drew arrows and aimed them at the other. It was the perfect definition of an impasse. Point blank range, and neither of them doubted the other's skill.

"If I lowered my bow," said Cynthia with the hint of a sly smile lingering on her lips, "would you shoot?"

"I would if it meant I could save my friends," replied Iris boldly, not without a telltale waver in her voice.

Cynthia smirked. "But if we were alone," she continued. "If it was just us left, would you be able to shoot?" Iris did not reply. Cynthia's smile only grew larger. "No, you wouldn't. You are hardly able to shoot when you are confronted by a deer. You are reluctant to take the life of anything, but you do so to provide for those you love. But if we took it another level, and moved from deer to humans, do you know if you would be able to shoot? Granddaughter of the most evil man in Panem, and you do not know if you would kill one of your countrywomen. I thought so."

She had barely finished her sentence when something small and dark barreled into Cynthia, knocking her to the ground. The figure had managed to shove the taller girl's bow hand aside, sending the stray arrow harmlessly into the ground. The newcomer wrestled with Cynthia on the ground for a moment before yanking her up, the point of his black-bladed sword a few inches from her neck. The boy glared at Cynthia for a second before saying coldly, "If you know what's best for you, you'll run."

With that, he released her from his grip on her jacket and lowered his sword. Cynthia could not seem to get out of there fast enough after that. She grabbed her bow and bounded off into the trees with the grace and speed of a deer. The strange, dark boy regarded the second archer, Iris, momentarily. She was pointing her arrow at him, her bow hand shaking a bit. The boy smirked and then said calmly and sarcastically, "You're welcome."

Iris lowered her bow. But before she could say anything, he turned and sprinted off in the direction of the river. She would have called out after him, had she not remembered Lystria's sacrifice.

By the time Iris reached her, Lystria already seemed to be slipping away. Her breath was labored and faint. She only stared at the arrow sticking out of her stomach uncomprehendingly, as if she didn't know what was happening. "Can you fix it?" she asked in the faint, thin voice of a scared child. The arrow had pierced her stomach, and even with all of Iris's medical knowledge she didn't know of anything that could seal a wound like this.

Iris knew she was shaking, but she did not care. "I…I'm not sure. I…d…don't think I can fix something like this. I…I'm not going to p…pull out the arrow, okay? If I do, you'll lose too much blood." Iris choked back a sob. "I…I'm not sure of anything I can do."

"Will Romulus and Artemis come for us?"

Iris closed her eyes to blink back the tears. "I'm sorry, Lystria. But I don't think they're ever coming."

* * *

Romulus and Artemis had flashes of the same thought, or thoughts similar to it as they battled the Elites. Romulus had proved himself to be surprisingly swift with his small, light spear, taking on the hulking Marius by himself. The disadvantages to having a heavy club such as Marius's was that even though it was a strong weapon and devastatingly lethal to anyone who had the misfortune to be standing underneath it, it was unwieldy and hard to maneuver. Once it was going one direction, it would not stop until it had made its full stroke. And it was often easy to predict where it would be going next, simply by the way Marius lifted. Being so small, Romulus was very fast and quite agile, weaving in and out between the larger tribute's legs and striking every once in a while with his spear.

Artemis was agile in her own way as she took on Lucius and Julius. For close-quarter fighting, Julius had replaced his large battleaxe with a broadsword, which actually worked in Artemis's favor. She had trained for duels against swordsmen, and here she was with her favorite weapons in her home court. With both her long fighting knife and her smaller throwing knife, she had managed to give Julius and Lucius several minor cuts on their arms, legs, and torsos that they would not forget easily.

And then came the moment when she swung her larger knife, which was really more like a short sword, at Julius. The swordsman caught it on his blade and flicked his sword, twisting Artemis's right wrist so that the knife fell out of her hand. In her brief moment of distraction, Lucius came up from behind her and forced her to her knees. Julius raised his broadsword over his head, preparing for a devastating downward stroke that would mean her death.

And somehow, as the blade went up, Artemis was perfectly calm. She actually smiled as she locked eyes with Julius. The blade kept going up. And up. And…up. Up until it went so far back that Julius fell backwards, completely unconscious.

The round white river stone that had thumped into his skull right as he was drawing his sword back for a death blow clattered to the ground.

Artemis had been the only one to hear the faint and brief buzzing noise as the sword went up, but she was not the only one to hear it the second time. After a couple seconds of the strange buzzing Marius went down. The noise stopped, and both Artemis and Romulus turned to Lucius, the only Elite left.

Then they all heard a sharp whistle, and inadvertently, they all turned. Across the river, a tribute was whirling something over his head. That _something _was making the buzzing sound, Lucius realized dimly before the boy released the stone inside the sling. The stone made contact with his head with a satisfying _clunk, _and Lucius hit the ground, out cold.

"Duck and cover!" shouted Romulus, but Artemis yanked him back up by the wrist.

"Don't be an idiot," she said, kneeling down next to Julius. The large tribute was drooling, and with a disgusted eye roll Artemis stood back up again. Lifting the two fingers of her right hand to her forehead in an informal salute, she signaled to the boy across the river and yelled, "Great timing, Cai!" The black-clad boy only saluted back and disappeared into the trees. "The dude's gone now, Romulus. You're safe."

"Not yet," said Romulus. "Where's Cynthia?"

Artemis frowned. "She probably went after the girls. I wonder if they're still alive with that mad markswoman running loose."

"Well, we can't just stand there. Let's go find them!"

With Romulus taking the lead, they raced across the river and into the forest, the same direction the two girls had run. And before they had gone far, they found them. A pale-faced Lystria was leaning against a tree, with Iris hunched over her. Artemis let out something like a gag as she stared at the bloody arrow sticking out of Lystria's stomach. She swallowed another gag and hid her mouth behind her hand, but her wide eyes gave her shock and fear away. "Lystria!" cried Romulus, rushing to her side. "No, no, no!"

Lystria reached up and brushed some of her brother's dusty brown hair out of his eyes. "Hey," she comforted weakly. "I'm all right. You're just going to have to do this without me."

"Can't you save her?" the boy begged Iris. "You must know something that can help her…"

"I've done all I can," Iris admitted, not meeting his large blue eyes. "That arrow hit something vital. She's slipping away."

"No," Romulus sobbed. "Lystria, you can't leave me alone."

His older sister caressed his face and wiped a tear from his eyes. "I don't want to," she said, "but my journey is over. You still have a way to travel in yours."

Her big blue eyes glittered with tears, but the light in them was quickly dimming. "I'm sorry for leaving you," she whispered before her eyelids fluttered closed.

"No," Romulus gasped, clutching her limp hand. "Lystria!" He barely heard her cannon fire.

Agonized cries rang throughout the forest that day. They were the cries of a broken, helpless boy losing the only thing he had left.

* * *

***sniffles* I cried as I re-read this… can't say it… will you do it, Cai?**

**Caius: No.**

**Me: *whining* Why not?!**

**Caius: You stole my blueberries. And made me give three random people hugs.**

**Me: Come on, you can't be still mad about that!**

**Caius: You also put me on a blueberry diet.**

**Me: That wasn't even mentioned…**

**Caius: No blueberries until Chapter 26! That's what you said! Hence, I will do no more for you. Why is it always me, anyway? Why can't you ask Artemis or Petronius or... yeah, one of the Elites. I'm sure they'd love it. *sarcasm sarcasm***

**Me: *gives death glare***

**Caius: *trembles under the ferocity of my condescending gaze* Er… um… all right! I'll say it! Review! There! I said it! Give me back my berries!**

**Me: *mischievously* That was wimpy. Now come and get them… *prances away being chased by a blueberry- and sleep-deprived stalker* Remember to review!**


	21. Chapter 20

**This one's for you, ImmaGuest! I'm feeling generous today! (I even did double updates on Dear Fanfiction Writers, too…)**

* * *

**Chapter 20**

Petronius realized he was walking in circles only when he stumbled on the clearing with the Cornucopia. At first he was confused. _Could the Gamemakers have put more than one Cornucopia in this arena? _Then he cursed himself. He was such an idiot sometimes. Of course there wasn't another Cornucopia; he was just going in circles! But night was falling, and he would need to set up camp somewhere. He probably wouldn't be able to light a fire, because he was too close to the Elites' camp, so he'd have to survive on cold rations again. Oh well. Better cold rations than no rations at all.

He located a nice tree deeper in the forest and climbed as far as he dared, sitting on a thick branch and letting his legs dangle down over the side. As he gnawed on his last piece of jerky and his last cracker, he gazed up at the sky and watched the nightly death toll. Only one today, the female representative for District 2. Lystria, he thought her name was.

He scowled as he realized that instead of his jerky, he was now chewing on his bare, dirty finger. Huh. No wonder it had been so hard. The last piece of jerky was gone, somewhere into the still-growling pit of a stomach. He'd have to find another source of food soon, otherwise he probably wouldn't make it through the rest of the Games. He pulled his finger out of his mouth, and let out a dry, half-hearted laugh when he heard the wet popping noise it made as he did it. He scowled again as he realized what he was doing. He was acting like a child during a game where he could likely die.

"Lovely night, huh?"

At the unexpected voice, Petronius literally fell out of the tree. Fortunately, he wasn't up very high, only about ten feet or so. Unfortunately, he landed on his back. Fortunately, his backpack cushioned his fall. Unfortunately, it wasn't that cushiony, and the wind was knocked right out of him.

There weren't really any other fortunates.

For countless seconds, minutes, or possibly even hours –– he could not tell –– Petronius lay there, completely helpless as he tried to regain the ability to breathe. A dark, slender figure appeared over him, probably the same one that had frightened him from the tree. He tried to move, but moving was impossible in his condition. Only part of his sudden exhaustion could be blamed on the fall, the other part could be blamed on the hunger that was eating away at his system.

When he finally regained partial control over his bodily functions, he tried to get up. It proved too hard of a task on his arms, and he collapsed. The person above him just stood there, watching him try to do something. After several tries, Petronius gave up and just lay there. The figure above him knelt by his side and asked in a sarcastic, lilting voice, "Give up?"

He managed an almost imperceptible nod. "Tired. Don't…kill."

"Don't worry," she said as she lifted a small vial to his lips. "Drink this."

It smelled sickly sweet, and Petronius shut his mouth. With alarming speed, the girl's hand lashed out and pinched his nose shut. Petronius's tightly-clenched lips curled in a smile. Not many people knew about his ability to hold his breath. No one really asked. The girl waited with her fingers tightly pinching his nose, the vial of liquid still touching his lips, and Petronius realized she was counting.

And after he could do it no longer, he opened his mouth with a gasp for breath. In that moment, the vial was dumped down his throat, his nose was released, and his mouth was clamped shut by the girl's surprisingly strong hand. Petronius had no choice but to swallow.

"Three minutes and seven seconds," she said sarcastically as he started to slip into unconsciousness. "That's a new record."

The last thing he thought before he went under was _How did she know?_

* * *

When he woke up and tried to rub his eyes, he found that his hands were tied behind his back with a rope. His eyes flew open, and he found that his feet were also bound. He was sitting down, and had been propped up against the trunk of an oak tree on the fringes of a small clearing. About ten feet away, Artemis –– she must have been the one to attack him the night before –– was leaning against another tree and sharpening a large knife with a whetstone. There were two other tributes with her. One was a petite blond-haired girl, who seemed about eleven or twelve, and a boy, who was so small he looked about ten, even though he was in reality twelve. He recognized the girl as Iris Snow, but couldn't recall the name of the boy. The boy in question looked up from the dagger he was honing, and met Petronius's gaze with red-rimmed blue eyes.

"Artemis," he said shortly, and she looked up from her knife. The smaller girl, who seemed to be repairing the fletching of a silver arrow, also looked up.

"I see our guest is awake," said Artemis dryly.

"What do you want?" snapped Petronius. Or, more accurately, tried to snap. His tongue was thick and dry, so it didn't come out as sharp and threatening as he had meant it to.

Artemis rolled her eyes. "Here we go again," she sighed, standing up and then kneeling in front of Petronius. "First of all, I will just say that I can imagine exactly what you are thinking. You're wondering why you're tied up to a tree when my two little wackadoodles aren't." At this point Iris let out an indignant protest at being called a little wackadoodle, but Artemis hardly paused. "It's because you came to us armed and if you woke up unrestrained you'd let out our innards first and ask questions later. Am I correct?"

Petronius hesitated, wondering where she was going with this. "Um, yeah, I guess, but…seriously? What do you want?"

"I want this game to be over," she said, her dark eyes flaring with a strange, manic light. "I want to forfeit. And I want to join the others who want to quit. I have a feeling you are one of them."

"Forfeiting means either death or suicide," Petronius pointed out slowly.

She seemed to consider this. "True. Very true. But that is a worst case scenario. Best case scenario; we band up against the Elites, we eliminate them, they eliminate some of us, and we may possibly be able to pull a nightlock on the Gamemakers. True, there is a chance that this time the rebels will not be swayed by that trick, but there may be a small chance that we will survive."

"And then be killed by them later. There won't be a victor this time, Artemis. The rebels hate us too much to want one of us to live."

"But that is what they _want_ us to believe," said Artemis. "If we show them that we can be trusted and that we are no different than they, their reasoning might change."

"But it's not going to."

"It might."

"If you're so confident, tell me how you'll change it."

"Only I?" Artemis raised an eyebrow. "Not only me, but you. You and I and all of the tributes who have the common sense to lower their weapons and use their brains. They are fighting fire with fire, so we will do the same."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that, by countering the slaughter of children with the slaughter of more children, the rebels are no different than the Capitol. It also means that, by countering the resistance of two tributes with the resistance of four, we may have the same results as the Mockingjay."

Petronius only stared at her. Of course, he had had his suspicions of Artemis's sanity before, but this clinched it. The girl was absolutely mad. Her plan was even madder, or it was at least a lie. Artemis was exactly the kind of tribute who would slit all of their throats in the night. "What makes you so certain that this will work?" he asked.

"I'm not," replied Artemis, her expression calm yet firm. "Probability of it working is very low. But it's the best option I have if resistance is what I am aiming for."

"What's the probability?"

She considered this for a few moments, then replied, "Ten percent." Petronius's mouth opened, but the intricate gears in Artemis's brain were still turning. "No, five percent. At best, seven." Petronius's eyes widened. "And after the Gamemakers and all the rest of Panem see this, those statistics drop down to somewhere around three percent."

Petronius bowed his head, thinking hard. "It's risky," he said.

"I know," she replied.

"Three percent isn't enough."

"I know."

"It's crazy."

"I know."

He lifted his head and locked gazes with her, grinning like a madman. "I'm in."

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**I was feeling nice today. And yes, ImmaGuest, I did update already today. I update every other day, so next chapter will be coming on Friday.**

**Kindly review, kindly review... or you can be critical, I don't care! ^_^**


	22. Chapter 21

**IMPORTANT:  
Did you read Chapter 20? The one with Petronius? I did double updates that day and just want to make sure everyone read it…because that becomes a crucial point here…**

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**Chapter 21**

**Level 10, Training Center Tower**

Katniss Everdeen could not move.

Sitting on the couch in the screening room of Level 10 in the Training Center tower, she could not move. Her mouth was open, and her eyes were fixated on the television screen in front of her, but she could not move. What was going into her ears was not making any sense. The children had figured it out. They had realized their potential for rebellion, when the ones manipulating them had dismissed the possibility as too unlikely.

Well, not all of the children had figured it out. One of them had, and spread the word to four of them. That one was the same one who had previously attempted something of revolutionary power. Artemis Gossamer –– the girl with the control disk, the child genius, the juvenile mastermind of the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games, and the representative of District 11 who just so happened to have run away to that very district three years ago –– was refusing to go down without a say in the matter. She had put it as clear as day –– she was fighting fire with fire.

Next to her, Peeta was talking frantically into his cell phone with someone that she assumed was either Plutarch or Beetee. Katniss found that if she listened closely, she could hear the person on the other end. That person in question sounded very mad. Plutarch, probably. She was correct. _"First the control disk, and now this?"_ squealed Plutarch. At which point the Head Gamemaker launched into a stream of rather colorful language that would have made even a Peacekeeper blush, and at which point Peeta interjected, "I think we get the picture, Plutarch. Just calm down and tell me what you're going to do about it."

_"I don't know what in the blazes I am going to do about it!"_ screamed Plutarch through the phone, so loud that Peeta actually flinched.

"Calm down," said Peeta. "You don't have to do anything. She said it herself –– probability of success is three to seven percent."

_ "That included the intervention of the Gamemakers!"_

"Then don't intervene, and see how it turns out."

_"Why not?"_

"Because I'm curious, that's why. Just leave them alone. It'll fizzle out on its own. The girl is half crazy anyway."

Plutarch audibly sighed. _"I don't know why I am realizing how much sense you're making, Mellark. But I think you're right."_

Peeta nodded, then turned a very interesting shade of red when he remembererd that while talking on a cell phone, Plutarch probably couldn't see him. "Yeah. Sure. Bye."

He hung up, and then turned to Katniss. Her eyes were once again locked on the television screen, where Artemis was untying Petronius's ropes. Out of the blue, Katniss said absentmindedly, "I wonder what would have happened if we had given her the control disk."

Peeta scrutinized the young woman next to him. She was so beautiful, he realized. Stunning. But so distant, so unreachable. Of course, they both were. The psychological damage dealt in the Games and the war had made sure of that. He turned his eyes back to the television screen, where Artemis, Iris, and Romulus were feeding the gangly teen and giving him back his weapons. He pitied them, to say the least. He wondered how they would come out, if they came out at all. Whether or not they would still possess their sanity. That was how he knew at first mention that the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games was a bad idea. He knew that the Capitol children, whether or not they were the descendants of the rebels' worst enemies, still had consciences and minds. Both of these were fragile things, and two weeks in the arena could batter them until they broke.

"I don't know," he replied truthfully.

He didn't. There were just too many unknowns about Artemis to be certain. She had spoken like she cared about the well-being of the tributes, like she had made the control disk just to save them, but he knew that inside, there was always that primal instinct to save yourself first, and save others later. Plutarch Heavensbee himself had said that Artemis might have made up her alibi about helping people just so that she could keep the disk, then use it in the arena to provide for herself and kill others. It was very probable, and this strange behavior in her "alliance" only supported it. It was also very probable that Artemis would use her alliance to protect herself and eliminate the threats such as Caius the loner, Cornelius her district partner, and the Elites; then, once all of these threats were gone and only she and her alliance remained, kill her allies and emerge the victor. It was not a bad strategy. But it was obvious, and Artemis did not seem like the type to use an obvious tactic. Well, unless she considered the fact that since they thought that she wouldn't do the obvious, she would do the obvious, or vice versa and so on so forth… no. She was either a very good actor with extremely good deductive reasoning, or her motives were pure.

And then there were the options that she could be both or neither. Maybe she was secretly very stupid, and she just had a heck of a lot of luck…

Groaning, Peeta lay back and closed his eyes. All this thinking was giving him a headache. He would just let the tributes find out for themselves.

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**I feel really happy...Dear Fanfiction Writers, one of my other fics, just broke the 70-review barrier in less than ten chapters! HAHA! So me very happy now ^_^**


	23. Chapter 22

**Hey there my lovely readers! Sooooo sorry that I didn't update yesterday…my mom declared a family-wide Do-Productive-Things Day. The only time that I had alone (and was NOT cleaning the toilets, involuntarily exercising, and/or ruining my smooth pale complexion by pulling weeds out in the stupid garden) I spent either eating a meal or going to the bathroom. That's how much free time I had yesterday. (I did have time to update Dear Fanfiction Writers though…but that was because I did it on my iPhone and during a bathroom break…)**

**Well, today my mom's at work so my chore schedule is relatively free. (Even though right now I'm technically supposed to be folding laundry.) So that being said, I will shut up now and enter in the chapter.**

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**Our last player is introduced. I'll bet that you forgot about him. Cornelius. Artemis's district partner. Ring a bell?**

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**Chapter 22**

**The Arena, the next day**

Artemis mentally reviewed her plan of action as she ghosted through the trees and towards the Cornucopia. Her group was running out of supplies, and more weapons might be needed if the Gamemakers decided that things were getting too boring.

She broke out into the section of sparser trees that surrounded the Cornucopia like a ring, and began utilizing all of her thief's skills that she had learned in the meadows and orchards of District 11. She matched her movements to the swaying shadows and patterns of the forest and pulled up the hood of her camouflage jacket to hide the fair skin of her face. Her footsteps were careful and silent as she glided through the shadows, and even the Gamemakers watching through the cameras above could barely hear her.

On arrival at the Cornucopia, she crouched in a copse on the edge of the clearing, completely still. If anyone had happened to look in her direction, they wouldn't see a thing except a cluster of innocent-looking bushes, perhaps with the occasional spotting of out of place color. But no one looked, so no one saw. And she saw everything.

Julius and the others were seated under the shade of a canopy, seeming extremely bored as they sharpened their weapons. Only Marius was not under the canopy with his allies; he was standing in the mouth of the Cornucopia with his giant club resting very intimidatingly in his hands. Guarding the supplies, Artemis assumed. This would make things quite more complicated.

Then her sharp eyes caught a movement across the clearing. Another tribute was crouched in the bushes on the other side of the clearing, near the tail of the Cornucopia. Artemis immediately recognized that mop of curly red hair, even from a distance. It was her idiot district partner, whom she had spoken to only a few times and on exactly two different occasions. Cornelius. What in the blithering blue blazes was he doing here? He was unarmed except for a slingshot, which he held in his hand. As Artemis watched, he loaded it with a golf ball-sized rock, drew back to a forty-five-degree angle –– maximum distance, Artemis realized –– and released. Artemis's eyes widened, but she had no time to do anything.

The stone sailed over the Cornucopia, over the clearing, whizzed past Artemis's head, and landed against a tree with a clack. Artemis ducked to avoid the stone, but as she did, she involuntarily rustled the leaves of her hiding place. The Elites, who had heard the clatter of the stone, noticed the rustling branches and saw Artemis hiding there. Shouting, they all leapt up and ran towards her. With the adrenaline rushing through her veins, Artemis sprang from her copse and took off into the forest.

While running, she felt her spine tingle and, listening to instinct, leapt forward and dove into a somersault. Sure enough, a silver arrow whizzed through the spot her back had been a second before. Quickly she scrambled to her feet and ducked behind a tree, then climbing up as fast as she could. Like an acrobat she ran down the length of a thick branch and leapt to a different tree, hiding in the leaves before the Elites could figure out where she had gone (a trick she learned in District 11). They were standing underneath the tree she had first climbed, looking up and yelling at each other. Finally they gave up and left for their camp, and Artemis was about to climb back down when she remembered. _Cornelius._

She had seen and recognized the expression on his face –– it was the devious expression of a thief about to home in on his target. And Cornelius was no expert thief. She had to get him out of there before he got himself killed.

She scrambled down the tree and returned to the Elites' camp. Just as she arrived she heard a shout as Cornelius, emerging from the Cornucopia, almost crashed into Julius. From her vantage point, she could see that Cornelius held a large iron war hammer in his meaty hand and wore a visored helmet over his head, along with a pack slung over his shoulder. The expression on his face was one of pure terror. Julius cracked his knuckles and advanced on the smaller –– but still rather large –– tribute. Swiftly Artemis reached into her boot and drew out a tiny silver throwing knife. If she was ever to kill Julius, it would have to be now if she was to save Cornelius. She wouldn't be able to reach him in time. She was just drawing her arm back to throw when, out of her peripheral vision, she saw a newcomer to the encounter.

A small, darkly dressed figure was crouched on the top of the Cornucopia, watching. Then, just before Julius was about to do something possibly permanent to poor Cornelius's head, the newcomer jumped down right behind him and drew his short black sword.

"Heads up!" shouted Cynthia as she drew her bow and fired at Caius. Faster than the eye could follow, Caius's black blade flickered into action and interrupted the arrow's path. It skittered to the ground harmlessly, and while everyone's momentarily focus was on the arrow, Caius made his move. Before Julius could even raise an arm to defend himself, Caius slammed the pommel of his sword into his skull. For the second time in the Games, the large District 12 representative collapsed on the ground, out cold.

What happened next went almost too fast to comprehend, but somehow Cynthia was the next to be knocked unconscious, then Marius, and then, after a duel of blades and feet –– the latter of which were mostly Caius's, seeing as his fighting style required much kicking –– that lasted only a few seconds and was no more than a blur to any outside watchers, Lucius fell to the ground. Once all of his defeated opponents were out unconscious, Caius turned to Cornelius. The bigger boy held up his hammer in case he needed to defend himself, but Caius sheathed his sword, and, after sending a murderous glare at Cornelius, sprinted away from the Cornucopia and towards the forest where Artemis was standing.

"Whoever came up with that 'defenseless emo' stereotype," said Artemis as he came within hearing range, "obviously never met you. Wonderful timing, once again."

"No problem," replied Caius, stopping his quick pace. "A couple things, though."

"Name them."

"Tell that dimwit that if he tries pulling a stunt like that again, I'll just laugh."

"Gladly. What was the other?"

"I'm not emo."

Artemis looked up at the sky, as if waiting for the clouds to reply to her silent question of exasperation. Naturally, they didn't answer. "Got it," she said slowly.

Obviously either missing or ignoring the sarcasm, Caius nodded sharply, turned, and retreated into the trees.

Cornelius was still staring at the unconscious Elites and didn't even notice Artemis until she was standing right next to him. "You know that what you just did was incredibly stupid," she stated, causing Cornelius to jump in surprise and raise his hammer.

"Artemis," he said in a shaking voice that did not match what he was trying to convey. "Stay away. Now give me your weapons and supplies, and we can part ways without anyone getting hurt."

Artemis rolled her eyes. "I'll give them to you when you do something smart. Now let's get out of here before_ they _wake up, otherwise we're both in trouble. Come on."

"Two things," said Cornelius as Artemis grabbed his wrist and led him into the forest. "One –– uh, offensive! And two –– where are you taking me? I don't even know if I can trust you."

"You shouldn't," she shot back without slowing down. "I'm a very untrustworthy person. The question to ask is whether or not I can trust _you."_

Cornelius, being the person he was, had no idea what to say to that. Normally it would be offensive to any seventeen-year-old boy to be shown up by a fourteen-year-old girl, hence making the older child summon a defensive bluster to salvage his pride, but Cornelius could not even try. "I… I guess."

"How have you been surviving the past five days?" asked Artemis in a snappy voice that made Cornelius suspect that it was an insult, not a question.

"I…uh…just took a big backpack on the first day and found enough stuff to last me this long," he stammered. "I ran out last night. So, uh, do you have any food?"

"No. I'm leading you back to my camp so we can all starve together. Of course I have food, and lots of it."

Cornelius considered the sarcasm for a moment, then said, "All right. You can trust me. Take me to this food." Sharply, Artemis released his wrist, sending him stumbling after the sudden release. "What did you do that for?" he cried indignantly.

"I did nothing," she said, not even turning around. "Now are you coming or what?"

Shrugging, Cornelius hefted his hammer over his shoulder and trotted after Artemis. Before long, they had arrived at the camp, where Petronius and Romulus were resting around the clearing. Iris was nowhere to be seen, but Artemis was not worried. The girl could take care of herself. The two tributes both jumped up when they saw Cornelius, but Artemis's cool expression reassured them. "Look what I found, boys," said Artemis to them, placing one hand on Cornelius's back and nudging him forward into the clearing. "Corny here –– may I call you Corny?"

"NO!"

"Corny here was trying to steal supplies and weapons from the Elites. In broad daylight. While trying to use me as bait."

"What?" Cornelius interjected. "I never even saw you until you popped up out of the bushes after I shot the rock!"

"Even if it was an accident and you just so happened to fire it in my direction it still had the effects you desired. That was incredibly stupid, Cornelius, even for you." She didn't tell him what she really thought –– that the diversion idea was actually a good one…even if it was accidental.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," apologized Cornelius irritably, but Artemis wasn't finished.

"And by the way," she said, "Caius –– the boy with the sword who literally saved your butt –– says that if you try to pull something idiotic like that again, he won't care if you get dismembered. In fact, I'm pretty sure he will enjoy it."

"And where is this Caius person now?" Cornelius shot back.

Artemis shrugged. "For all I know he could be camping out in a bush or perched up in a tree right now, listening to every word we say. Or he could be back at his camp, hotwiring the cameras. We just don't know, because he's…well, he's kind of a stalker. Just believe me when I say that he just pulled your rump from the barbecue."

"Why, hello there," a new voice said just then. "Cornelius, I believe?"

Cornelius turned around, half expecting it to be Caius even though the voice was clearly female. Instead, Iris was standing behind him, holding her bow in one hand and a burlap sack in the other. She set down the latter of the two and stepped lightly up to Cornelius, inclining her head in a way that made her look a lot older than she really was.

"Welcome to the alliance," she said in her high, pretty voice. "I'm sorry for the rough treatment. Artemis isn't very good at first impressions." Then, to Artemis, she asked, "Have you proven his loyalty?"

Artemis seemed to consider this. "Not exactly."

Iris's eyes locked with Cornelius's, then, in an unexpected flash of motion, she drove her fist sharply into the larger boy's stomach and pinned him against a tree, holding a dagger dangerously close to his throat.

"Then I don't know what he's doing inside our territory alive," she said softly yet menacingly.

Cornelius was caught completely off guard and squeaked to Romulus and Petronius, "Help…me."

Petronius exchanged a glance with Artemis and then said, "A small, sympathetic part of me tells me to help you. The rest of me, the amused part, is having too much fun to agree."

When Cornelius looked to him for help, Romulus only shrugged. "If a girl half your size can knock you against a tree, you're on your own."

"Iris," said Artemis, but the smaller girl seemed to have gone hard of hearing. "IRIS! Let him go, please. I really don't think he wants to die right now, and I don't appreciate blood."

Grudgingly, Iris released the pressure on the knife and stepped back, letting Cornelius fall to his knees. Artemis leaned in and muttered, loudly enough for everyone to hear, "Nice use of that maneuver though. Remind me never to get on your bad side."

Once Cornelius had regained his breath, he straightened his helmet and asked indignantly, "Do all of the girls of your alliance try to kill newcomers after they say hi?"

"No. Just us," Artemis said. "I mean it's just us two girls. This is our alliance –– Romulus, Petronius, Iris, and me. And hopefully you if you don't do anything incredibly stupid."

Cornelius considered this. "What happens if I don't join you?"

"Then I give the word," answered Artemis, "and Iris here will demonstrate her knife techniques." As emphasis, the eleven-year-old girl flipped her dagger precariously and caught it lithely in her other hand.

Cornelius's hazel-green eyes bulged, and all of the blood seemed to drain from his face. "Fair enough. You can trust me."

Artemis inclined her head, a cold smile on her face. "I thought so. Unofficial meeting adjourned; all personnel return to duty."

At this, everyone –– which only included Petronius, Romulus, Iris, and Artemis –– dispersed from their makeshift circle. Cornelius just watched them, for fear of doing something wrong and getting chopped up by Iris. Petronius sat down on a log and started examining his sword blade. Romulus started climbing a tree. Iris retrieved her burlap sack and started unloading the contents. Artemis, who had been watching her, grimaced and turned away with a small gag. Iris, holding the three dead groosling in her hands, looked up amusedly. "What?"

Artemis rubbed her temples and stuck out her tongue to no one in particular. "Blood. That's just nasty."

Across the clearing, Petronius let out a bark of laughter. "You're afraid of blood?"

"No," Artemis scowled. "I just don't like blood –– when it's out of the body. It's disgusting. Yes, I know it's only a compound of white and red cells, platelets, and plasma essential for the survival of humans, but still…ugh."

"You might not want to turn around, then," advised Iris, who had just laid the dead birds on a log in preparal of cleaning and gutting them. "Petronius, hand me that knife, will you?"

Artemis groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh gross, oh gross," she muttered repetitively, hugging herself. "Nnnnnhhhhh…."

Iris didn't bother to suppress her smile as she slashed the knife across the bird's stomach, causing a ripping sound that everyone knew would drive Artemis nuts. It did, and immediately Artemis's hands flew up to her ears. "Don't _do_ that!" she yelled, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.

Iris rolled her large blue eyes. "Do you want to eat tonight or not?" She knew that Artemis could not hear her, but she didn't care.

Artemis was still rocking back and forth, muttering unintelligible things under her breath. Soon she risked cracking open her eyes to walk away, but then Cornelius had either the courage or the stupidity to follow her and ask a completely, at that moment, irrelevant question. "Hey Artemis, what am I supposed to do?"

Artemis took her hands off her ears. "What did you say?" Iris just so happened to slash open the stomach of another bird at that moment, and Artemis visibly flinched. That day, they all found her "nails-on-a-chalkboard" sound.

"What am I supposed to do here?" repeated Cornelius, not noticing Artemis's reactions to the teeth-grinding sounds of Iris gutting wild chickens.

_"You,"_ replied Artemis, stressing the word as she tried to ignore what was going on with Iris and the knife, "stay at the camp and watch for attackers."

"Just…_sit _here and wait for the enemy to show up?" Cornelius inquired cynically. "Why not just go out and attack them head on? Get rid of them while we can?"

"Because that's not our game," she said brusquely. "Our job is to stay together and stay alive, and we're not going to accomplish either by charging heroically into battle. Not everything is won by force and strength, Cornelius."

"But one of these days, we're going to have to split up and kill each other, right? These alliances are only temporary, right?"

A cold, stony silence enveloped the clearing as everyone watched the potentially hostile exchange. Iris even set down her knife. "I meant what I said. Not everything is or can be won by killing everyone who comes your way. Sometimes all it takes to win is for you to drop your weapons and use your brain."

Cornelius digested this phrase for a few minutes, then asked her, "Do you know that kid at the Cornucopia? The one with the black sword?"

"Caius," she said. "Yes, I know him. Not well, but we have met on several occasions."

"Is he on our side?"

"More or less," she replied. "I don't think he's really on anyone's side, because no one ever sided with him. But he likes to help us sometimes. I suppose he could be considered our ally."

"He could also be a dangerous enemy," Cornelius observed.

"Absolutely," she said. "More dangerous than Julius or Marius or any of the Elites. If I could recruit him I would, but I think he likes being alone."

"Why?"

Artemis hesitated, as if she wasn't sure she should be even talking about it. "I don't know," she said, but Cornelius was not as stupid as Artemis's experiences with him suggested.

"You're lying," he said.

"I know that," she replied without flinching.

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**Next chapter: we see why Caius is who he is… (*squeals in fangirl giddiness*)**

**On a totally unrelated topic, I have a quick poll: who are your favorite OCs so far and why? Now that all of the players have been introduced, we can vote on such things!**

**(If you can't tell, Caius is my fave because he's HOT… ^_^ Artemis follows close behind because of her snarky clever smart awesomeness, and Petronius places third because of…umm…I don't know why.)**


	24. Chapter 23

**To the anonymous Guest reviewer:  
Umm…well, thank you, I guess. But I would mind…so no. Sorry. Unless you're the president of Lionsgate and plan to make this the fifth movie (seeing as they are planning on splitting up Mockingjay into two parts). So…umm…I'm glad you like it, but no.**

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**Chapter 23**

**One and a half years previously, President Snow's front yard**

"We'll be all right, Cai. I promise you, we'll be all right."

She didn't let go of him as she whispered the words. She, the sixteen-year-old girl in the ragged, once fine dress. He, the thirteen-year-old boy in the torn, bloody jacket. He whimpered when she pulled him closer, and she winced and drew back. "Sorry. Is it still bad?"

He nodded his shaggy black head weakly. All around them, other children huddled in the biting cold. Curled up against the concrete barricade, the two siblings were secluded from the others, so no one would see the younger boy suffer. The wound, which stretched from his right shoulder to a point just under his left arm, had been cut with the knife of one of the angry rebels that had stormed their father's mansion. The Peacekeepers had come soon after, but not soon enough, and their mother had been killed in the riot. Their father, who had run at the first sign of danger and left his wife and two children to fend for themselves, was nowhere to be found. But the two children had been immediately brought here. Here, in front of President Snow's mansion, to be used as a human shield against the rebels. They had allowed the girl to wrap her brother's wound and spread some cheap medicine on it, but little else. It hadn't been enough, and she worried that he might bleed to death before help came. She herself had smaller wounds, but she felt nothing except pain for her younger brother.

But what was that, up in the sky? A hovercraft, marked with the Capitol's seal! "Look!" said the girl, pointing up to the hovercraft. Dozens of silver parachutes began to rain down to the children, and hopefully the boy raised his head. "Maybe there's better medicine for you," said his sister, standing up and rushing to catch one of the gracefully falling parachutes.

That was when the hovercraft vanished, and a feeling like ice water cascaded down the boy's burning back. His dark eyes widened as she, standing about twenty feet away, caught one and began to open it. "Calysta, no!"

She only had time to look up and meet her brother's gaze before the parachute in her hands, along with about twenty others, exploded.

Instinctively he ducked his head and pressed himself against the wall as the explosions rang through the air. They did not last long, but quickly following the last explosion was an agonized wail. This gave way to chaos as the surviving children screamed from wounds, terror, or both.

He looked up. There, lying on the ground not twenty feet away, was the blackened, nearly unrecognizable form of a girl. Momentarily forgetting his wound, the boy scrambled towards her, though he knew there was no hope. "Calysta!" he screamed over the ringing in his ears and the agonizing tear in his back. Sobbing uncontrollably, he crouched over his sister's burnt figure. An undetonated parachute rested on the ground nearby, and in almost insane fury he grabbed it, yanked off the parachute, and threw the silver capsule as far away as he could. A tortured wail rose from his throat as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his cold bare feet.

He didn't even see the white-uniformed rebel medics in his sorrow. They swarmed all around the children, holding medical kits. One of them, a blond-haired girl who was only about his age, rushed to him, took off her coat, and placed it over his shoulders. That was when he finally noticed the medics, and looked up into the girl's somehow familiar blue eyes. She smiled comfortingly, but then she seemed to hear something and turned.

It was then that the pieces clicked together. A long-ago Hunger Games, which he had watched one rainy afternoon when he really had nothing better to do. The Seventeenth Hunger Games. Parachutes just like the ones they had received now…

It had been right after the bloodbath. There were twenty surviving tributes –– too many for a proper Games. On the second day of that Games, every survivor had received a silver parachute at exactly the same time. And, also at exactly the same time, five of the parachutes had exploded. Those who did not pay heed to the cannons died exactly two minutes later, when the rest of the parachutes exploded and took out the three who lacked the wisdom to throw them away.

It was as if his mind had been subconsciously counting down those one hundred twenty seconds, and he just realized that it was now at five. Because five seconds was all the time he had to scramble away from any parachutes. And five seconds was all it took for the rest of them to go off and the blond-haired girl to drop to the ground.

He pressed himself against the barricade as tightly as he could, turning his back to the explosions and tucking his head into the girl's white, and now red, jacket. The wound on his back screamed in protest. It was in this way, hunched over, cold, bleeding, and crying, that the rebel soldiers found him later. His battered identification card told them who he was, and immediately they had taken him to a hospital for treatment. The rebels, without the substantial medical knowledge, could not close up his wound entirely, and it scarred over. It had never completely healed, nor had the psychological wounds dealt by the death of his sister and the death of the blond-haired girl whom he had never met.

Already, at the age of thirteen, and now fifteen, Caius Adrian Angelico was a scarred veteran of war.

* * *

And at the present moment, just as Artemis and Cornelius were talking about him, he was secluded away in his cave. He preferred the cave as his hideaway, because it was dark and quiet and cut off from the rest of the arena. And as a bonus, he had manually disabled the cameras that constantly watched him and he personally found very annoying.

He was crouched in a dark corner, lost in his own thoughts. His fingers subconsciously rubbed his silver ring as he struggled with the flashbacks wreaking havoc in his already-troubled young mind. Visions of the dead flickered in front of his eyes like ghosts, there and gone again. His mother, clothed in a fine black dress, smiling kindly. Calysta, his sister, in her signature denim jacket, clutching her journal to her chest. That blond-haired rebel girl, who was only about his age, yet was already risking her life to save others. The countless faces of countless tributes, whom he had watched as they perished and yet did not do anything. Shutting his eyes did nothing to hide him from the dead.

Shivering, not from the cold but from the pain of past fears, Caius cowered deeper into the shadows of the cave, grateful that there were no cameras left to witness his weaknesses.

Completely alone.

* * *

**What do you think of our favorite District 4 representative now? I was literally crying as I wrote this…**

**I love angst. Love it.**


	25. Chapter 24

**You guys got that last chapter, right?**

**You get who that "blond-haired rebel girl" was?**

**If you have any idea whatsoever, please tell! ^_^**

* * *

**This chapter is sure to appease any and all of Caius's fangirls… (as if the last one didn't; but this one is kind of happy, at least a little bit)**

* * *

**Chapter 24**

Petronius awoke from a nightmare. Again. But contrary to some of his earlier ones, this one had nothing to do with the Hunger Games.

"Bad dream?"

Petronius jumped and turned to the source of the voice, which was a dark-haired girl leaning against a nearby tree. "Don't you ever say hello before talking to people?"

Artemis smiled, never a comforting thing. "You know, I read once that your dreams are symbolic translations of your inner wishes –– or fears. Think about it."

Petronius thought about it. "Huh," he said matter-of-factly. "Fears. Right. And I actually _like_ hot dogs."

She cast him an amused glance. "Not. Going. To. Ask." Petronius grinned, and she turned away. "I'm going to liberate stuff now," she called to the rest of her allies, who were spread out around the camp.

"Can I come?" asked Petronius, which struck Artemis as extremely funny.

"Why would I bring you?" she asked, to which Petronius could not reply intelligently.

"Who are you stealing stuff from?" inquired Cornelius, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground with his hammer in hand. He was still wearing the white plastic helmet.

"_Liberating_ stuff from_,"_ corrected Artemis. "The only people, besides Caius and our alliance, left in the arena."

Now that Petronius was thinking about it, he realized that Artemis was right. There were only ten tributes left. He marked them off in his mind –– himself, Artemis, Iris, Cornelius, Romulus, Julius, Cynthia, Lucius, Marius, and the insomniac loner named Caius whom Artemis had only ever mentioned with a strange, unidentifiable light in her eyes. Just the alliance, the Elites, and a single loner.

Cornelius still seemed to be thinking about it. "Don't help me out here," he said, stroking an invisible beard with one hand and counting on his fingers with the other. "I got this."

Artemis sighed. "I'm leaving now. He can keep this up all night."

"Keep what up all night?" asked Cornelius obliviously, dropping his hands.

Artemis glared at him, looking extremely annoyed. "Some day you're going to take off that ridiculous helmet," she said ominously. "I'll be waiting."

Nervously, Cornelius touched his helmet to make sure it was still there. Iris laughed as she roasted several juicy grooslings over a small fire. "Ooh, hey, dinner's ready. Artemis, wanna stay for a small leg or two?"

"I already called one of the legs," put in Romulus, rushing forward to grab his before they were all gone.

"Hey, why not?" Artemis shrugged. "I'll have better cover in half an hour anyway."

They ate in contented silence. The birds were delicious, with tender meat and fat that melted in your mouth as you chewed. There were originally three groosling and one leg for each of them, along with large helpings of wings and breasts, but there was an extra leg and a heated debate between Romulus, Petronius, and Cornelius on who would get it. Artemis was watching them argue over the leg when she spoke up and said, "I think it should go to someone who hasn't had one yet."

They all turned to her. "Artemis, we're not that stupid. You already had one," Petronius said.

"I wasn't talking about me," she replied, gesturing to a thick tree at the edge of the clearing. "Come on out, Cai."

A thin, pale face peeked out from behind the tree, and Caius stepped out from his hiding place slowly, almost fearfully. Artemis took the groosling leg from Iris and held it out to him.

"Is that…is that for me?" he inquired in the silence. The boy's voice sounded lonely, almost wistful.

"All yours," replied Artemis.

Cautiously, he took the leg. Artemis gestured to a bare spot on the ground between her and Iris and said, "Sit."

Petronius kept one hand resting subtly on his sword hilt as the darkly dressed boy warily sat down next to Artemis and started tentatively eating his groosling leg. It was obvious that he was very hungry and currently not a threat, but Petronius had seen his black sword and had heard about how Caius had defeated all of the Elites single-handedly –– twice! –– and was willing to bet that if Caius had wanted to, he could have killed all of them already at any one of his opportunities. Petronius shivered at the knowledge that he had been hiding behind the tree for who knew how long and could have at any time attacked.

All eyes were on him as he ate his groosling. Everyone noticed the rips in the knees of his black pants and the tear in his jacket sleeve, which showed the red-spotted bandage that peeked out from underneath. His dark eyes were wide and fearful and surprisingly young, with prominent shadows underneath them evidencing lack of sleep. He was skinnier than they had at first thought. His unkempt, long black hair fell in front of his face, hiding those dark eyes from view. And momentarily, Petronius could almost imagine him as a normal boy. After his previous encounters with him, Caius had become a mysterious, lethal assassin in Petronius's mind. But now that he saw him up close, he didn't seem scary at all. Then Petronius remembered who, exactly, he was thinking about and shook off these thoughts. He had a bad feeling that if he was going to make it to the final battle, it would be against Caius. Better not to make friends with potential enemies. But then…by that logic…he shouldn't even be trusting Artemis.

Within less than a minute Caius had picked every last bit of flesh off the bone. Unsure of himself, he tentatively threw the bare leg bone into the pile of groosling remains they had formed and stood up. "I should go," he said awkwardly.

He was about to leave when Iris jumped up. "Wait!" she yelped. "That wound on your arm. Are you okay?"

Eyes wide, Caius stared at the eleven-year-old girl. "Um…"

"I have medicine," offered Iris. "Sit back down."

"I –– "

"Sit!" Iris may have been small, and she may have been young, but she possessed her grandfather's charisma, determination, and ferocity. Gingerly, Caius sat down again. "Take off your jacket, and let me see that wound." He obeyed uncomfortably, conscious of the four other pairs of eyes watching.

Underneath his jacket was a loose gray tunic with only one sleeve –– the right sleeve had been torn off below the shoulder. And where that sleeve had once been was a neatly tied white and red bandage around his bicep. Iris knelt next to Caius and started to unwrap this bandage, revealing the wound. It wasn't too bad, but it was relatively deep, and had already begun bleeding again.

"When did this happen?" Iris inquired.

He hesitated. "Second day. Some shirtless kid stole my sword and gave me this while we were fighting."

Out of the corner of his eye, Caius saw Petronius stiffen, but paid no notice.

"You keep reopening the wound," explained Iris. "That's why it hasn't been healing. It should have at least set by now."

With the efficiency of an experienced healer, the girl wet a clean cloth and dabbed it on the wound. Caius grimaced several times but said nothing, emotionless as usual. But when Iris pulled out a small silver medicine jar, his eyes visibly widened, and a flicker of something –– fear? –– darted across his face.

Iris's blue eyes glittered, as she obviously recognized the suspicion on the older boy's face, a suspicion founded by fear. "Medicine," she said, giving a comforting smile. "Give me your arm." Reluctantly, he let her spread the clear substance over the wound with her gentle yet controlled hands. "You can put your jacket back on," instructed Iris as she handed him a new white strip of cloth, "just don't put this clean bandage on until morning. Let the wound air out overnight."

Caius stood up, slipped his jacket back on, and stuffed the bandage in his pocket. "Thank you," he said hesitantly, "for everything." Then, without another word, he turned towards the dark woods and disappeared into the shadows.

Everyone was silent for a very long time afterwards, until Romulus stood up and sat next to Iris, where Caius had been. "Don't you ever compare yourself to your grandfather."

Iris looked at Romulus, bewildered. "What?"

"I've heard you talk in your sleep. You think you're no better than he was."

She was almost speechless. "I –– but I –– "

"I've seen the proof." Romulus reached out and cradled Iris's tiny hands in his. "Coriolanus Snow's hands were meant to take lives. These hands –– your hands –– are meant to save them."

Iris inhaled shakily, then bowed her head. "Thank you, Romulus."

"But that doesn't mean you shouldn't stop hunting," the boy blustered. "You're the only one here who can use a bow, and we need that food."

Iris gave a dry, humorless laugh. "Yeah. I won't."

That was when Romulus realized that he was holding her hands, then quickly let go of them and scooted awkwardly away from Iris. Cornelius muttered something about young love, then silence drifted over the camp as they watched the small campfire's flames.

After quite a while, Artemis stood up. Without even looking his direction, she said, "Petronius."

"What?" the District 10 representative asked.

"I don't think you're happy."

It was creepy how she did that. She hadn't even looked at him. "What am I not happy about?" inquired Petronius, very obviously and very foolishly testing Artemis.

"A certain boy who just stole your groosling leg," she replied, turning to him.

Wow. She had gotten it spot-on. "Well, why not?" he blustered, standing up to meet her. "Why wouldn't I be _not_ happy? We don't even know if we can trust him, and you're inviting him inside our camp for dinner and personal therapy sessions with the healer."

"Therapy sessions? Petro, you're pathetic."

"The point is," Petronius argued, "we should be eliminating the last threats. And currently, he's the only threat."

"So this is how it is? Just like previous years? Banding up to eliminate the lesser threats, then turning on yourselves? Just like the Careers?"

Petronius hesitated. Those had been his exact words to Julius on that day so long ago in the Training Center when he had been invited into the group of Elites. He wondered if Artemis had overheard, and realized that she probably had. The repetition of his words was deliberate, and almost as if she was saying silently, _Hypocrite._ "I never said that we were banding up."

"Ah, but did you imply it through different wording?"

She was insufferable. "No."

"I don't see what the problem is, then."

"The problem is…that! Just that!"

"If you're referring to Caius, or at least I believe you are, _that_ was what you look for in an ally."

"Then why haven't you asked him to join us?"

"Petro, I don't think you fully understand what he and I are going through."

"Don't call me Petro."

"I will say it again –– you don't understand."

"And you do?"

"He is simply not the kind who associates with others. No, he will not turn against us now. Yes, if it comes to it, he will have to. But until that day comes, he can be trusted. The Games are difficult as they are, and you're not making them any easier by arguing about every little thing that makes you suspicious, which _includes_ tributes who have done absolutely nothing to harm you."

"Oh, so now you're saying that you're better than me? Is that it?"

"I said nothing of the sort."

"Yes, you did. You said I don't understand."

"You don't. Now stop picking on Caius."

"Why? I don't trust him. Why do you?"

"Because he's like me," she snapped, finally shutting Petronius up. "Because he has nothing else to lose." She took in a deep, almost shaky breath, and then said, "He doesn't work with people because they remind him of those he lost, not because he thinks he's better than everyone else. He doesn't trust others because they don't trust him. He doesn't show his emotions because if he did, we would never see him do anything but cry. He doesn't sleep because doing so brings the memories back. He doesn't talk about his past because he fears it. The reason I trust him is because I know his motives. They're mine, too. We don't have anything else to lose."

Petronius was silent for a moment, then he shot back, "Do you think that I don't have troubles?"

"Blazes no, I'm not that ignorant," she retorted. "You're in the arena. You have problems that multiply themselves by tenfold with every step you take. But you certainly have it better than some of us. Your parents didn't abandon you, and they are not waiting for execution."

"They're in prison," snapped Petronius, but Artemis wasn't done yet.

"In prison, yes, but waiting for release and not their execution, and anticipating the moment they will see you face to face," she countered. "And your only sister. Safe, healthy, and not in the arena."

"The rebels took her!"

"They took her, yes, but they gave her to a family who will love her and treat her like a normal child. You have your family to look forward to seeing in the future. You want to get out of the arena to see them again. But Caius and Iris and Romulus and I, we only have ourselves. Ourselves and each other."

Petronius, as hard as he tried, could not think of anything to top that. But it turned out that he did not have to, his large ego being saved by six soft _thud_s nearby. They all turned to see six packages, all different shapes and all dangling from silver parachutes, settle on the ground. Romulus, the closest to the packages, held up a hand and said, "I'll open them."

"Romulus, they –– " protested Iris, but he glanced at her, nodded once reassuringly, knelt, and untied a rectangle-shaped box.

"It has three letters on it," the boy said, puzzled. "A, H, G…"

"Those are my initials," blurted Artemis. "Artemis Hecate Gossamer."

"And this one," said Romulus, picking up another, larger one, "has the letters I, M, S…"

"Iris Medea Snow," whispered Iris.

"P, A, L…"

"Petronius Artolian Lyre," said Petronius.

"C, R, T…"

"Cornelius Renatus Thyme," murmured Cornelius.

"R, D, C… Romulus Darius Crown," said Romulus. "That's one for each of us. With our initials. But what's that one?" He picked up the last one, a cylinder, and looked at the letters on it. "C, A, A…"

"Give me that," said Artemis, snatching the container from Romulus's hands. "That's not for any of us."

"Who is it for, then?" asked Petronius.

Iris gasped. "C, A, A," she repeated, her blue eyes wide. "Caius Adrian Angelico. But why…?"

"Let's find out," said Romulus, taking his own box and pressing the latch to open the metal lid. Several people gasped, but nothing happened and Romulus was left unharmed, still peering into the box. "Pepperoni pizza? Cool!"

"What?" asked Petronius, taking his and opening it. "NO. WAY. Hot dogs!"

"Hot dogs?" repeated Artemis cynically. The smell of frankfurters filled the air, and Petronius dipped his hand into the silver box and pulled out the aforementioned hot dog, complete with a bun.

"Mmmmm," said Petronius, taking a deep breath of the hot dog smell. He had apparently already forgotten his nightmare.

Iris opened hers. "A salad?" she asked, drawing out a plastic container. "With raspberry vinaigrette, chicken, candied walnuts, blue cheese, and sliced apples, no less."

"Mac 'n' cheese!" sang Cornelius, letting the smells of warm, thick pasta waft out of his container.

"Chocolate!" gasped Artemis upon looking inside her container, but then she got a hold of herself, narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and said to no one in particular, "What's going on here?"

"I love this kind of salad," said Iris dreamily. "Favorite ever."

"Mine too!" said Romulus, but then he furrowed his brow and corrected, "The pizza, I mean, not the salad."

"Hot dogs," repeated Petronius dazedly. "The world's best food. This is just plain weird."

"No," said Artemis. "It's more than just weird. They're mocking us."

"How?" inquired Iris.

"Don't you get it?" asked Artemis. "There haven't been any deaths since Lystria…sorry, Romulus. The Gamemakers must be getting bored."

"It's the calm before the storm," said Petronius.

"And this," said Artemis, pulling out a chocolate bar, "is nothing more than the last meal before the execution."

Dramatically, she took a large bite.

* * *

**Caius: …**

**Me: Cai…?**

**Caius: …**

**Me: Come on out of that corner, love…what's wrong?**

**Caius: You made me look weak.**

**Me: No, I made you look lovable! There's no way Artemis won't fall for you now!**

**Caius: W-W-WHAAAAT?!**

**Me: Umm, never mind.**

**Caius: But why's it always me?**

**Me: What do you mean?**

**Caius: Why do you always pick on me? It's always me! "Oh, I need a character to take out my angst on. I'll give Caius a horrible, heartbreaking backstory!" "Oh, I need to bribe the reviewers. I'll steal Caius's fruit!" "Oh, I need someone to fall in love with that chocoholic brat of a so-called genius. Caius should be willing!" WHY'S IT ALWAYS ME?!**

**Me: …  
I dunno.**

**Caius: …**


	26. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

**Training Center Tower, Level 10**

Katniss Everdeen could not stop crying.

She cried for the dead.  
Rue.  
Thresh.  
Foxface.  
Marvel.  
Glimmer.  
Clove.  
Cato.  
Gloss.  
Cashmere.  
Brutus.  
Wiress.  
Mags.  
Blight.  
Cecelia.  
Woof.  
Chaff.  
Seeder.  
Finnick.  
Amadeus.  
Augusta.  
Lystria.  
Callia.  
Claudia.

She cried for the living.  
Artemis.  
Caius.  
Petronius.  
Iris.  
Romulus.  
Cornelius.  
Julius.  
Cynthia.  
Lucius.  
Marius.

They had no idea what was coming.

They never did.

All of them had been, or were now, tributes.

* * *

"We have to help her," said Peeta into the phone. "She won't talk to me, or anybody else. Don't you know anything we can do to help her?"

"Why is she crying?" asked Mrs. Everdeen worriedly. "Does she miss… her sister?"

"No," replied Peeta. "That's not it. I got that much out of her. She said something about tributes… and then broke down again." He looked anxiously over to the huddled, shaking form curled up on the couch in front of the television. "I feel so… helpless. I can't do anything for her."

"Ask her again," advised Katniss's mother. "And try being more gentle. Wait until it seems like there is a lull in her crying."

"Okay," said Peeta doubtfully. "Thank you, Mrs. Everdeen."

He hung up and tiptoed over to the couch, where Katniss was staring at the television screen with those wide, wet gray eyes. A blanket was draped around her shoulders, and her thin fingers clenched the folds so tightly that her knuckles were white. Nothing bad or suspenseful was being shown on the screen; only Artemis walking alone through the dark woods with a metal container clutched in her hands. But Katniss might as well have been watching the death of Cato, her body language was so tight and guarded.

"They have no idea what is coming," said Katniss unexpectedly. Her voice was soft and mournful, yet surprisingly strong. "Many of them will die tomorrow."

Peeta could do nothing but nod grimly.

"What have I done?" asked Katniss, to no one in particular as she kept her eyes on the television screen. "I've killed fourteen more."

"What do you mean?" asked Peeta.

"I killed them," said Katniss, not taking her eyes off the shadowy figure of Artemis. "All fourteen of them. Livius. Aelia. Tertius. Sabina. Valerius. Iovitan. Horatia. Flavia. Titania. Callia. Augusta. Amadeus. Claudia. Lystria. I killed them."

Peeta was quite surprised to learn that Katniss remembered each of their names, even more surprised that he hadn't, and mostly surprised because of her last three words. "What are you talking about? You didn't –– "

"No. I did. I voted to end their lives. I voted to have the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games. And because I did, they were put in there and now they're dead. I killed them!"

Peeta was silent. He couldn't have spoken even if he knew what to say.

"It's too late now," sobbed Katniss, the tears rolling down her cheeks, "but I just wish I could stop it. Just. Stop. It. I can't kill any more of them. I can't just sit here and watch them all die. I want to stop it."

These words stirred something in the back of Peeta's mind. "Maybe we can," he whispered as that something swelled and grew into a full idea. His eyes widened, and he let out a gasp. His hands scrambled for his cell phone, and even before the person on the other end even had a chance to say hello, Peeta was already shouting into the receiver.

"Beetee!" he yelled. "What did you do with Artemis's control disk?"

* * *

**Pfft...this is what happens when I try to write the HG canon characters. OOC? What do you think?**


	27. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

**The Arena**

"What is it?" asked Caius.

They were perched on the outcropping of rock that formed a sort of "awning" over Caius's "front porch". Artemis crouched next to Caius, with her hood still shading her face. Caius was sitting on the edge of the rock. He had taken off his shoes and socks, letting his bare feet dangle over the edge. He did not wear his jacket or his sword, and both items rested nearby and in reach. He now wore only black pants, his silver ring, and his torn tunic. Between the two tributes rested a metal container, about which Caius was speaking.

"I don't know," replied Artemis truthfully. "It's yours. You get to open it."

Caius picked up the box gingerly. It was a smooth silver cylinder about six inches long and three inches in diameter, with the initials _CAA_ engraved on one end. Cautiously, he pressed the latch and tipped it over his cupped hand. A few plump dark berries spilled out, and Caius's eyes widened. "Berries. They're either nightlock or blueberries."

"Well, that sucks for you, then," said Artemis. "Petronius got a hot dog. Romulus got pizza. I got six bars of dark chocolate –– they're all gone now, if you're wondering."

Under his long black hair, Caius's shadowed eyes narrowed. He deposited all but one of the berries back into the container, then took that one and sniffed it. He broke it in half, and examined the greenish-purple center. Those shadowed eyes brightened as he reached his conclusion, and he exclaimed in a surprisingly childish voice, "Blueberries!"

And before Artemis could act, he popped it into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "What the –– Caius! That could be poisonous!" she yelped, and for this the boy stared at her as if _she_ had been the one to eat the berry.

"It's not poisonous," he said matter-of-factly. "Yes, I know blueberries look a lot like nightlock, or vice versa, but these aren't nightlock."

"How do you know?"

"Nightlock has a distinctive bitterness to their scent, and their centers are dark red or yellow, not greenish-purple. And blueberries have a different curvature near the bottom."

Artemis said nothing, only stared at him. After about a minute of extremely awkward silence, during which Caius asked repetitively why she was staring at him and during which she did not answer, she said, "Okay, you're good."

"What?" he asked.

"Remember? The Seventy-fourth Games? 'Peeta, those are nightlock! You'd be dead in a minute!' That was a minute. Sixty seconds."

The look he gave her was practically the epitome of exasperation. "Thanks for your concern."

She rolled her eyes. "No problem. Eat away."

Greedily, Caius poured another handful of blueberries into his hand, sifting through each one and sniffing them before dumping them into his mouth. He had downed half of the container before Artemis said, "You really like blueberries, don't you?"

He showed his sharp, purple-stained teeth in what might have been considered a grin. "Yup. Forget chocolate."

As Caius ate the rest of his berries, Artemis watched him sadly. She hadn't told him her theory yet, the theory that the unexpected gifts from the Gamemakers were merely something to warn the tributes that the real fight was coming. She wasn't sure what it was yet, but she knew when it would come. The last meal was given at night. All executions came in the morning.

She sat down beside him, also letting her legs dangle off the edge. Caius looked at her with those wide, unblinking dark eyes, and she gave a tentative, wan smile. Neither of them spoke for a long time, both sitting in companionable silence as they listened to the sounds of the quiet night and felt the cool breeze on their cheeks. Then, when she thought that the silence had been long enough, Artemis said, "Why not?"

He looked at her. He knew what she was talking about, and it had nothing to do with chocolate or blueberries. This had been a long-debated question between them.

"Because," he said brusquely, leaving it at that.

"Because why?" She was very stubborn.

"They won't accept me."

She had heard this before. "Why not?"

"They just won't, okay? No one ever has."

"I have."

"That's because you're too much like me."

"And they accepted me."

"Because you threatened to gut them like fish if they didn't."

Artemis considered this. "True."

"I don't want them to fear me. I've either been feared and cast out as too angry and dangerous, or looked down on and cast out as too different. I hate both options."

"They wouldn't dare look down to you. Except for maybe Petronius. He's pretty tall." She didn't think that he got the joke.

"Exactly. They fear me. It's always one or the other."

"They feared me at first, especially Cornelius. But they warmed up to me. They'll do the same to you."

"No. I told you. I work alone, or not at all."

"That's what I said. And Iris. And Petronius. And Cornelius…arrogantly. It's like –– a group of loners."

A smile flickered across Caius's thin face. "Introverts unite!" he said, pumping his fist.

Artemis did likewise and together they finished sarcastically, "Um…_no."_

Caius almost laughed. Artemis heard it. It was a breathy, half hidden sound, but it was there. Along with the ghost of a smile and the merry flash in his usually solemn eyes. She wanted to make it happen again. The problem was, she didn't know how.

_And he says that he's not emo._

Then the usual indifference returned, and another silence drifted between them. Caius averted his eyes and stared down at his bare feet. "I'm sorry, Artemis," he said softly. "But my answer is no."

"Cai, you can't just –– "

And then he did the last thing either of them expected him to do. He reached forward, pushed her hood back, pulled her close, and kissed her right on the lips.

When he drew back, Artemis's eyes, no longer shadowed by her hood, were wide. She blinked several times as she stared at an equally surprised Caius, and her mouth opened. All feelings of icy indifference melted and left her with a blazing flame she hadn't even known existed. That blazing flame burned at her, leaving her with a foreign feeling that she did not know how to describe.

And what Artemis Hecate Gossamer did not know, she feared.

She broke their locked gaze first, and stood up. Without another word, she clambered down from the outcropping and raced towards the forest.

When she felt that she was far enough away from _that boy_, she paused her frantic race against no one and supported herself against a tree. As she regained her breath, her rational mind kicked in. A numbing chill ran down her spine as she realized that by fleeing from something as trivial as a kiss, she may have just condemned Caius to death.

_I didn't warn him about tomorrow's execution._

* * *

**(*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*)**


	28. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

**Training Center Tower, Level 10**

"Remind me why you need Artemis's control disk at a bloody _one in the morning?"_ yawned Beetee cynically.

Katniss had perked up significantly at the mention of Peeta's plan. Now she was sitting bolt upright on the couch, her eyes bright and wild with a strange fire none of them had seen since before the death of her sister. "We're going to give it back to Artemis and help her finish what we stopped."

Beetee stared at the girl on fire, a smile tinting his lips. "Yeah. I like that idea."

"So can you give us the control disk?" blurted Peeta.

"No," said Beetee. "There are still too many unknowns about this piece of technology. We have not determined how she would be using this device and what for, though she claimed her motives were pure. We may be placing in Artemis's hands the key to the victor's crown."

"Are you saying that you haven't even –– "

"No, we haven't," said Beetee without hesitation. "We're a little busy with the Games, if you haven't noticed. So no, we haven't been able to find anything else out about it."

Peeta seemed to want to say something, but was physically incapable of saying it. He flailed his arms around in the air in gestures meaningless to everyone present except him, which all of those present had seen both Haymitch and Plutarch doing at various times and supposed that Peeta had picked up on the habit. Then he burst with surprising force and violence, "Then we send it to her and let her figure it out!"

Beetee sighed and rubbed his temples. "This is a bad idea."

"A _good _bad idea," offered Katniss.

"She might kill them all."

"She might save them all."

"This might be illegal."

"All the more reason to do it, then."

The technician sighed once more. "All right. Come with me."

* * *

He led them down to the Control Room, which was empty except for a half dozen Gamemakers, all of whom looked half asleep as they slouched in front of their holoboards. Beetee glanced at them, nodded once, and pressed his index finger to his lips in the universal gesture for silence. Then he sat down at a vacant holoboard and started tapping away. Katniss and Peeta stood behind him and watched. When he was satisfied, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black pouch, handing it to Katniss.

"Place that on the pedestal," he instructed.

"What pedestal?" she asked. Beetee pointed across the room to a silver pedestal with a base like a large cylinder. Puzzled, Katniss made her way over to the pedestal and placed the control disk flat on the surface.

"There's a little keypad on the top," he said. "Type in the coordinates N 7, W 12, Sector 9."

Carefully, Katniss did so. "Next?"

"Step back and watch," said Beetee, tapping the send icon on his holoboard.

The black pouch, with the control disk inside it, lowered into the pedestal and disappeared. Beetee directed their gazes towards the screens, some of which were now switching to images of Artemis. She was sleeping on the ground in the clearing of her camp, inside a sleeping bag. Her allies were scattered around her. The three spectators expected to see a small silver parachute descend within the next few seconds.

Nothing happened.

They waited.

Still nothing.

"Katniss?" said Beetee slowly.

"Yes?"

"Are you sure you punched in the right coordinates?"

"I'm positive," said Katniss, then her face screwed into a frown. "No."

Beetee looked down at his holoboard and started tapping away. His eyes widened, and he leaned back in his chair with his hands covering his mouth. "Oh no. This is not good. Too late to cancel the order –– "

"What?" Peeta and Katniss both yelped at the same time.

"You punched in the coordinates N 7, W 12, Sector _19._"

Both of them were still confused. "What's wrong with that?" inquired Peeta.

"Not what," said Beetee. "Who."

"Who's in Sector 19?" asked Katniss.

Beetee took a deep, shaky breath. "Male District 4 tribute. Caius Adrian Angelico."

* * *

**Haha! EVIL CLIFFHANGER! Didn't see that coming, didja?! Haha!**

**Deja vu...**

**If you are reading this, you should review. There are currently 9 people following this and at least 1 guest... so I should get at least 9 reviews...**


	29. Chapter 28

***sigh***

**If the last cliffy killed you, you guys are going to HATE me when Chapters 29, 30, and 31 roll around... (insert evil laugh here)**

**Okay, I'll throw you guys a lifeline and update today. BUT ONLY TODAY will I deviate from my usual every-other-day updating schedule...**

**You're lucky.**

***blows raspberry***

* * *

**Chapter 28**

**The Arena, coordinates N 7, W 12, Sector 19**

Caius curled up tighter in the corner of his cave, trying to fall asleep. But sleep eluded him, repelled by the relentless thoughts that pecked at him. _Am I crazy? Why did I do…that? Seriously? Why? I knew what would happen. If she wasn't so stunned, and if I hadn't done it so fast, she would have slapped me. I don't love Artemis. I don't even like her. She's imperious, suspicious, egocentric, acerbic, insensitive, sadistic, manipulative, dictatorial, bossy, hostile, cocky, beautiful, perfect, amazing –– what? Shut up, brain! Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshut ––_

His mental tirade was interrupted by a strangely familiar dinging noise, coming from outside. Could it be…? A sponsor? No! It couldn't be! It had to be another bomb! Like the one that had killed his sister…

He choked back an involuntary cry. If it was a trap by the Elites, which was not likely but probable, there was no use in telling them that he was here. Steeling himself, he got to his feet as silently as he could manage and slowly drew his short black sword. He made his way to the mouth of his cave and peered out from the shadows. No one was in sight, but there it was! A small silver parachute, floating down from the sky. It landed on the ground not five feet away with a faint thud. Caius froze as he stared at it, his breath caught in his throat. The capsule at the bottom was narrower and shorter than the ones tied to the exploding parachutes he had seen before.

After a full five minutes of waiting, Caius darted out of his cave, snatched the parachute, and fled back into the shadows within the space of two seconds. Nothing exploded, so he relaxed his tensed muscles and gingerly unclipped the parachute from the capsule. It was then, when he was opening the silver container, that he noticed the three letters engraved on the side.

_A. H. G._

Artemis Hecate Gossamer.

She would hate him forever if he opened it, he knew.

_She already hates you._

He opened it.

Inside was a tiny black pouch. Caius unzipped this and found not food, not a weapon, not medicine, but a sleek, matte silver device nine centimeters long, four wide, with a black screen covering the front and a small lock button on the top. This he switched on, but when the screen lit up there was one word flashing –– _password._

Caius rolled his eyes. It was just like Artemis, he thought, to lock a device that, he suspected, would help her win the Games. But if it was Artemis's, why was it in his hands?

And what would he do with it now that it was?

The answer came quickly when he remembered his ring. His silver ring, on the middle finger of his right hand. It was just a simple, smooth band; nothing fancy. But it had hidden secrets, too –– embedded inside was a tiny, advanced-frequency scrambler, a device that scanned and automatically disabled any firewalls or virtual defenses on a piece of electronics or a security system. Virtually untraceable by outside scanners, it was nearly infallible. It was this ring that had helped him, at the age of eight, break into President Snow's mansion and steal a pen from the presidential office, partly because he was bored and partly because his own pen had run out of ink. It was this ring that had allowed him to deactivate the watching cameras of his hideaway. It was a beautiful piece of technology, he marveled as he slid it off his finger and rolled it around his palm, even though he had stolen it from his own mother. She hadn't minded, and he doubted she would now.

He held the ring up, and with the pinky finger of his left hand rubbed the smooth metal on the inside of the ring four times. Visibly, nothing happened, but the faint, almost imperceptible vibration of the ring told him that it was on. He slid it back onto his middle finger, then waved his hand over Artemis's silver disk. Up, down. He flipped the disk over. Up, down. And he waited.

At first, nothing happened. And then the screen lit up, glowed red for a second, and then went to the home screen.

Caius breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Artemis's virtual defenses weren't so advanced anyway. This sigh of relief was cut off when he saw a single banner that had just appeared across the top of the home screen, and read the message on it –– _Congratulations. You've just activated Artemis Hecate Gossamer's control disk without being blown to oblivion. If she is not dead, please give it back to her, or you soon will be. Thank you, and have a lovely day!_

* * *

His initial thoughts, or rather, thought the singular, was _NO._ He was not an idiot. He knew what an object like this was capable of, if it was what he suspected it was. Just because he might maybe have probably had a tiny small little eensy-weensy crush on Artemis didn't mean that he trusted her with this potential weapon of mass destruction. No. He would not give it back to her.

But what if there was something missing? The Gamemakers would not have dared give it back to her if they didn't have any reason to, unless the sponsors really, really wanted her to win. Which they probably did not. No, there was something else going on here.

Something else…

* * *

Everyone knew that Artemis was a genius. But what wasn't widely known was the extent of Caius's own intellect. Now, he might not have been able to recite all the names and ages of every tribute since the First Hunger Games, or solve college-level calculus equations without using a calculator. But he was not stupid. No, not by far.

When he was seven, he had discovered a box of old mystery novels in the depths of his father's closet. He would read one halfway through –– many times less when the mystery was easy enough –– then put it down and try to solve it by himself. Oftentimes he did. The child was a genius in his own way.

* * *

And so Caius Adrian Angelico crouched in the depths of his cave, fingering the control disk as his detective's brain put the puzzle pieces into place.

* * *

**Anyone else notice that Artemis's initials also stand for A Hunger Games?**


	30. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

**Coordinates N 7, W 12, Sector 9**

Artemis knew she was a coward. A complete, stupid, yet extremely intelligent, coward. After realizing what she had forgotten, she had chosen to continue her path back to camp. Just because she was too afraid to stand up to Caius after what had come between both of them. _But you don't care about him,_ a dark voice said in her mind as she lay on the ground, curled up in her sleeping bag amidst the bodies of her allies. _What's it to you if he dies?_

And, to her private horror, she found that she did not have an answer to this. She didn't know what would happen if someone else died in the Games that _she _had failed to prevent.

Then she found it. The answer. If Caius died, at her hands or anyone else's, it would be her fault. The reason that fourteen children were dead was because she, Artemis, was so careless and let the only hope of their survival slip out of her grasp. She didn't think she could live with it. If any others died, she feared that she might go insane. But she couldn't bear going back to him, either. Maybe it was that long-dormant self-consciousness kicking in, or something.

She didn't think she slept. It didn't feel like it, but the next thing she knew she could hear the rustling of fabric across her camp. The sun had not risen yet, but through the leaves of the trees above Artemis could see rosy streaks of daylight spanning the blue sky. Iris was getting up already, putting on her jacket and slinging her bow and sheath of arrows over her shoulder in preparal for her morning hunt. She looked up as she was tightening her bootlaces to see Artemis, propped up by her elbow but not yet up. Artemis smiled sadly at the eleven-year-old girl, and gave her a small shooing movement. She mouthed a single word to Iris as the tiny huntress left the camp: _careful._ Iris nodded in understanding, and then left with her strung bow in her hands.

Artemis's stomach growled, and she got up as silently as she could. Hopping over her sleeping allies' bodies, she made her way over to the fallen tree under which they kept their backpacks. She reached under for the green one, which she knew held food, but froze when something tickled her hand. Heart pounding, Artemis drew out her hand. The remains of a spiderweb dangled down from her fingers, and hurriedly Artemis brushed it off as she tried to suppress a scream.

But when she saw the spider crawling up her arm, she abandoned all attempts of silence.

Petronius was up instantly, drawing his sword and nearly cleaving Artemis in half, who was running around shrieking at the top of her lungs, "GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!"

Cornelius also screamed, but for different reasons. His face had just been stepped on, or rather, tripped over, by a panicking child genius, and unfortunately for him, he had not been wearing his signature helmet. Artemis did not seem to care, as she was trying to get… _something_ off her body. Then, apparently successful, she lifted her foot and stomped on whatever it was. Then she lifted her foot and stomped again. And again, and again and again and again…

A flash of movement caught her eye, and she looked back over to the log from where the spider had come. Another was skittering out from under its shady hideaway, and towards the four –– and now that Iris had heard Artemis's screams and rejoined them, five –– allies. Artemis shrieked again and dashed to Petronius, scrambling up his body with impossible speed and locking her arms and legs around his neck and body. "S –– s –– s…SPIDER!"

"Artemis?" inquired Iris cynically. "Are you okay?"

"Ow, my _face,"_ grumbled Cornelius.

"SPIDER!" Artemis squealed again, wrapping her arms around Petronius even tighter. She wasn't very heavy, but she had a surprisingly strong grip. Petronius gasped from the constricting hold around his neck.

"Oh, relax," said Romulus, rolling his eyes. He stepped forward, lifted his boot, and squashed the small black menace. Its body was about as big as his thumbnail, he noticed when he took his foot away, and it had a strange, thin red stripe down its back… where had he seen something like that before? "It's just a spider," the twelve-year-old said, turning to the wide-eyed and still off the ground Artemis. She didn't move, only whimpered once.

"Artemis," inquired Petronius dryly, "do you happen to be arachnophobic, by any chance?"

Artemis whimpered again, and nodded quickly.

"Then stay on Petronius's head," advised Romulus, lifting his boot to squash another spider, which had dared venture out into the open. But it dodged his foot with surprising speed, leapt off the ground, crawled up his leg, stopped near his thigh, and bit down through the fabric of his pants. Neither the spectators nor the victim had eyes quick enough to follow all of this, but they knew what had happened when Romulus yelped in pain, swatted the spider away, and then collapsed on the ground.

Iris, ever the healer, rushed to his side. She whipped out a knife and sliced away the fabric covering the bite, but gasped when she saw it –– where the spider had bitten was a tiny black spot the size of a pinhead, and spreading from that spot were deadly black veins running up his leg with alarming speed. Iris was the only one to see his unblinking, glittering blue eyes as they stared up at the sky, and the only one to hear the single, whispered word that escaped his lips: "Lystria…"

Then those glittering blue eyes glassed over, a cannon fired, and Romulus Darius Crown was no more.

But they had little time to mourn –– from underneath the log, from where the first three spiders had come, trickled a few more, and all with the same red stripe down their abdomens. Iris, now wary, leapt up. "Run," she said as the trickle turned into a stream, then a flood. "RUN!"

The three other tributes, or rather, two seeing as Artemis still had a death grip on Petronius, did not disobey. All around them, it seemed as if the very trees themselves seemed to shed the small but numerous arachnids, which scuttled after them with speed only possible with the hands of Gamemakers guiding them. "Come on! Keep up!" shouted Iris, who was clearly the fastest runner, to Petronius, who was lagging behind and in danger of being overtaken.

"If you haven't noticed," shouted Petronius as he tried sprinting as fast as he could, "I have a fourteen-year-old girl on my back! Exactly _how much_ do you weigh, Artemis?"

Artemis managed to squeak out, "Forty three kilos." *

Petronius wasn't buying it.

"All right, forty eight! What's it to you?" **

"I can't carry you for too much longer. Do you think you can run?"

She looked over her shoulder at the black wave of spiders that was sweeping towards them. "If it'll make us go faster," she whimpered, "yes."

"Here, I'll set you –– " Petronius tried to offer, but Artemis was already at work. She released him unexpectedly and dropped to the ground, dangerously close to the front line of spiders. "Artemis!" shouted Petronius, but no one saw the matches in her hand or the flint in the other until she threw the former down on the dry, dead leaves and leapt away from the flames that sprang up.

"Bought us a few seconds' head start!" she shouted as she sprinted after her allies, her irrational fear of spiders driving her to a speed she didn't know she had. "Keep going!"

"Where?" asked Petronius.

"Elites' camp!"

"What?" screamed Iris. "But –– "

"They can't kill us all at once. Romulus was just the example. If all nine survivors are together, they'll have to stop the muttattions so that they don't kill us all at once and ruin the suspense." She risked a glance over her shoulder. The fires she had started were now far in the distance, but they had only hindered the pursuing arachnids for a few moments. "Now RUN!"

This command was rather unnecessary, seeing as they were already running. Petronius had the folly to point this out, but fortunately for him Artemis was in no mood, condition, or circumstance to dole out her usual tirade addressing his stupidity. All she had time to say was, "Run faster!"

And so they did. They broke through the front line of trees and into the clearing in the center of which rested the giant silver Cornucopia, also in which the four very confused-looking Elites were pointing weapons at the running tributes. Cynthia prepared to loose an arrow in Artemis's direction, but Julius held out his hand in a silent command for her to stop.

Iris was the first to reach the four Elites, and she skidded to a stop in front of Julius. "What in blazes are you doing here?" snarled Julius, grabbing the tiny girl's arm and spinning her around to face him.

She looked up –– way up, seeing as Julius was two feet taller than her –– and replied in a matter-of-fact voice, "Saving your lives."

The other three of the alliance halted in front of the Elites and swerved around to face the oncoming wave of spiders. They hadn't stopped coming, and now it seemed as if they and the Cornucopia were locked inside a perfect circle of green, surrounded by black. "What did you do?" yelled Julius to Artemis, the closest to him and, though she was young and small, clearly the leader of the alliance.

Artemis glared at her fellow tribute. "I did nothing," she snapped. "At least, not purposely. This is what I meant by the final meal before the execution," and this part was directed to not only Julius but the other tributes as well. "They plan to kill most of us, and leave two or three to fight in the end. But if we are all in one place it will be hard for them to pick us off separately and leave certain ones alive."

"What if they do plan to kill us all here? Huh?"

Artemis only inclined her chin, an action that with anyone else of similar stature would have just made them look even shorter in comparison to the hulking teen, but with her radiated an aura of domineer and control. "Then we all die here, and Caius wins. Unless he is already dead."

Before them, the front line of muttattion spiders advanced. They were barely five meters away now… no, four! As the arachnids drew closer, the eight tributes shrank back, cornered against the Cornucopia and with nowhere to run. Their predators showed no sign of slowing. In Artemis's panicked mind her percentages were staggering: 2% chance of sponsor intervention, 5% chance of Gamemaker intervention, 93% chance of death…

She didn't calculate the microscopic chance that at the last moment, the arachnids would freeze, and that a certain dark-haired boy would walk out of the forest.

Because that's what happened, and when it did, none of them could barely believe their eyes.

The blanket of spiders scuttled back a few feet, and then parted a cleared pathway straight from the forest to the eight tributes. And at the far end of that pathway was a slouching, skinny boy holding a small device in his hands. As they stared at him, he looked up, met Artemis's eyes, and said in his trademark monotone, "Someone called my name?"

But the words were not spoken in welcome or humor.

And in his eyes they all saw the light of a victor in control.

* * *

**AN: Artemis's arachnophobia attack is based off a true story. Except that in the true story, no one died. And we weren't in an arena. And the spiders were (probably) not poisonous and out to get us. And there weren't a billion of them chasing us. But there were three that I counted, and I did actually climb on top of my friend in that way. I do not remember how. Fear is a powerful motive. Yes, I am arachnophobic. I am not afraid to admit it, though.**

* * *

*** Forty-three kilograms = Ninety-five pounds**

**** Forty-eight kilograms = One hundred five pounds**


	31. Chapter 30

**To my dear friend Hello-Yello:**

**You have read chapters 12 through 29, right…?**

**I don't think my private messages ever reached you.**

**Because you reviewed Chapter 11, the one where I said I would go on hiatus for a week, and then stopped. I believe you must be mistaken due to my shortcomings –– I fail to remove my Author's Notes when I am done with them –– but no, I never went on any hiatus.**

**So if you have not read the chapters after chapter 11 (or chapter 12 as Fanfiction calls it seeing as there is nothing set up for prologues) then I would highly, highly, highly recommend going back and reading them before continuing. Okay? Go, go on.**

…

…

…

…

…

**Okay, for you people who **_**have **_**read it, here's Chapter 30. Have fun trying to understand the genius-talk. You'll see what I mean. ^_^**

* * *

**Chapter 30**

"That's my control disk!" yelped Artemis. She broke away from the group and made a beeline towards the fifteen-year-old boy on the cleared pathway, but Caius merely glanced down, tapped and swiped a few times on the screen, and looked back up. The formerly dormant muttattion spiders blocked off the pathway and surrounded Artemis completely, cutting her off from the other seven tributes.

Iris raised her bow, and following her Cynthia did the same, and they aimed at Caius. The boy looked up, that impassive glare on his face made all the more sinister by his dead eyes, long black hair, and ashen skin. "With something as small as a tap can I control all the muttattions in this arena to kill Artemis in a second," he said, in the same flat, emotionless voice. "If you loose those arrows, I have no doubt that I will die. But you can also be assured that if I hear so much as the twang of a bowstring, my finger goes down half a centimeter and touches a single icon, unleashing the muttations and killing all of you, even as I die. It'll be exactly what the rebels want, so feel free to shoot."

Iris's hand trembled as she tried to keep her aim steady, and her much taller and much older fellow archer cast a quick glance at her. "Keep your arm relaxed," Cynthia advised. "If he does so much as flinch, don't be afraid to kill him."

_Kill him…_ Iris repeated mentally._ It is what my grandfather would have wanted. No, I will not. I am not my grandfather. I was meant to save life, not take it.  
But he wants to kill you and your friends –– it's only self defense!  
Who said he wanted to kill me…?_

* * *

Cornered as she was by killer spiders, Artemis's fear level seemed to have gone over its limits. And so, her rational mind realized that her irrational mind was going to drive her to insanity, so it took the wheel. And Artemis started to think. If her insanely fast thought process could be put into words, this is what it would have looked like:

_He wouldn't have come here just to gloat. Would he have? Yes, it is true that he is untrusted, so he might want to use the control disk for ill purposes. Maybe he is using it in the way I was tempted to use it but didn't…maybe he is planning to kill us all anyway and win the Games by himself. But he cannot do that now; if he so much as blinks, which I have never seen him do anyway, Cynthia and Iris will let those arrows go, and we will all die. And yet I have seen how fast he moves; he might be able to dodge two arrows, or at least keep them from hitting a vital spot. Is that his plan? I am not sure._

_It just does not fit in with what I know of him…but he is a liar and a thief. As much as I want to trust him, I know that in certain circumstances, he cannot be trusted in the least. And these circumstances certainly call for that level of suspicion. But if he wanted us all to die, why did he not just protect himself and let the muttattions kill us all? As I mentioned before, surely he would not want to gloat. That is just not his style. Possibly he was meaning to give my control disk back to me, as my message, which I had prepared in case of hacking by foreign sources, suggested. And upon seeing me charge towards him in such a way, anyone would be alarmed. Especially Caius, the jumpy, easily startled little boy that he is. I will test my theory, but first I must put that control disk out of the equation. In my hands it is a help, but in his it is only a hindrance._

All of the above was mentally sorted out by Artemis in the space of three seconds.

"Caius," she said.

He turned his black gaze towards her inquisitively.

"Voice command: lockdown sequence seven-point-nine, _liber,_ confirm," said Artemis simply and clearly. Fast enough that it did not make sense to human ears until it was too late, but clear enough for the tiny sensors on the control disk to pick up and recognize the sound waves, then shut the device down. All around them, the muttattions froze, and then crumbled into dust.

_"Liber,"_ repeated Caius calmly and defeatedly, staring at the now dormant device in his hand. "The Latin word for 'free'. That's your password."

Artemis said nothing, only inclined her chin. "Give it back, Caius. Do what you came here to do."

All warmth vanished from his cold dark eyes. "How do you know what I came here to do?" he snapped, completely losing the low, cool monotone that, until now, had been his only approach. "And why do you want it back? Are you planning on killing us all here and winning the Games yourself?"

"That is what I thought _you_ would do," replied Artemis. "But it isn't. You haven't had that control disk for long. It was given to you by one of or some of the Gamemakers, Beetee probably, sometime after I left. Judging by the amount of time it took you to become proficient in how to use it and your level of intelligence, I will assume sometime between two and two thirty in the morning. Upon receiving it, you broke through the virtual defenses by some sort of hacker hidden on your personage, probably that silver ring on your hand. You saw my message, and therefore vowed that you would not give the disk back to me until you figured out what I would be doing with it.

"You came here for several reasons: the first involves the alert system on the control disk. When a Gamemaker sends out muttattions or an artificial natural disaster that may harm a tribute, it alerts you as to what it is and where. The second involves the death of Romulus –– when you heard the cannon, you knew it was serious. So you came, using the control disk to repel the muttattions, and realized that you had to spare us if you were to ever find out what the control disk was for and how to utilize it to its fullest. So you did. With it in your hands, you had the advantage, and were planning on using it to contain us and hold it over us so that we would not be able to harm you. But you had forgotten one thing: the voice commands. Am I right, Caius?"

The boy holding the control disk seemed to be the only one who understood Artemis's verbal dissection of his plan. He nodded reluctantly. "You are right," he said, "and by this I can also infer what your plan is.

"The Gamemakers did send it to me, it's true," he continued, "but they didn't mean to. Checking the coordinates of each tribute's placement when I received it, I notice that you, Artemis, and your allies were at the coordinates N 7, W 12, Sector 9, while I am at coordinates N 7, W 12, Sector _19_. All it would take is a wrong move of a finger as they punched them in for one to mess up these coordinates, hence sending it to me instead of you. It was a complete coincidence, but a coincidence that could be solved by a bit of deductive reasoning." He looked down to the inactive disk in his hand, his hair hiding his eyes, then continued.

"Using this information and the knowledge that the Gamemakers did mean to send this control disk back to you, presumably after taking it from you on suspicions that it would be used to harm others, I can deduce it is not meant to be used to help you and only you win. Your outer personality suggests that you might be tempted to use this to kill off your opponents, but your inner personality is too weak to use this device for an offensive blow of that scale. By running to me when you saw that I had the control disk, you showed that you are afraid that others will use it in the wrong way, and knowing you, I can put myself in your shoes and picture what I must look like –– with my appearance and reputation, you would be afraid that I would misuse it. And from this, I conclude that this disk was not intended to harm, but to help."

Artemis stared at the fifteen-year-old boy with a mixture of admiration and amusement. "Not bad," she mused. "Not bad at all. You have earned my respect, Caius Adrian Angelico. Perhaps you are not as foolish as I once believed you to be."

"Forget respect; all he's earned is my confusion," offered Cornelius unhelpfully. "Can someone tell me _what in blazes is going on?"_

The two young genii ignored him. "And you have earned mine," replied Caius. "So I trust that I can give you this control disk without worrying about if you are going to blow off my head or send a muttattion after me?"

"That is actually what I am worrying about now," said Artemis amusedly, "even though the proof and the truth tell me that I can trust you. If I can trust you, you can trust me."

Caius nodded once. "The same."

"Seriously!" shouted Cornelius. "What is going on?!"

Caius and Artemis turned their equally ticked-off glares towards him. Next to Cornelius, Julius cleared his throat. "I never though I'd say this, but I'm with him. What are you talking about?"

They quickly summed everything about the control disk up in the simplest words they could manage. When they were finished, the other seven tributes just stared at them. "Uh, when were you planning to tell us this?" inquired Petronius.

"When it became relevant," said Caius.

"Which it just did," finished Artemis. She turned to her fellow genius. "So I believe that you trust me?"

"To a certain extent," replied he. "Enough to give you this back."

With the muttattion arachnids reduced to no more than piles of harmless black dust by "lockdown sequence seven-point-nine", Artemis strode forward to take the control disk from Caius's outstretched hand.

Her fingers were about to close around it when they heard Iris scream.

* * *

**Told you. Genius talk. I don't know how I did it and I doubt if I will ever be able to repeat it. Even now as I edit these long stretches of monologue I have to read some of these advanced sentences twice to remember what exactly I meant by them.**

**Review?**


	32. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

Artemis spun around, dipping her hand down to her boot and flicking out the small knife she kept hidden in an ankle sheath. She was just in time to see tiny Iris, with a sword sticking out of her side, fall to her knees. That sword was held by a furious Lucius, not Julius as she had first suspected. As the eleven-year-old girl collapsed, he drew the blood-stained blade out of her side. He had been aiming for Petronius, whom he regarded as the greatest threat, but Iris had jumped in front of him before he could.

Cynthia raised her bow. Caius and Petronius drew their swords. Artemis held her knife in the throwing position. Julius raised his battleaxe, Cornelius gripped his hammer, and Marius clenched his boulder-sized fists. All ready to attack Lucius, who for some unexplainable reason had just stabbed the weakest and most vulnerable tribute in the arena.

"Why should we trust them," said Lucius after a long, cold silence. Despite the word placement, it was not a question. "They've done nothing for us. I say we fight, Elites, and show them who's on top."

"That still doesn't answer the question of why you just stabbed Iris," snarled Caius, his monotone suddenly taking on a cold, sharp edge.

"That's repulsive even to me," put in Julius.

"They've tried to kill us!" screamed Lucius, his eyes completely black with rage. "They're trying to kill us now! They're not trying to help us! They brought those…those _things_ here, and they were trying to kill us!"

"Lucius, get a hold of yourself!" scolded Cynthia, pulling her bowstring back a little farther.

"Um, is there any chance that he might have eaten some –– " Petronius tried to say, but before he could finish his sentence Lucius spun around with unnatural speed and swung his sword. Cynthia loosed her arrow, but her shot was rushed and she missed. And with Petronius at risk, Artemis did not dare throw her knife. The bronze-haired swordsman, with a reputation like his, seemed capable of holding his own against his livid and quite possibly insane adversary, but he had been taken by surprise. Lucius's blade grazed his shoulder and barely missed his neck.

Caius, Artemis, and Cornelius rushed forward to help Petronius, and Marius and Julius tried to restrain Lucius. Marius grabbed his arms, and Julius wrestled the sword out of his hands, but Lucius was not about to go down. His foot shot forward and kicked Julius right in the gut, sending him stumbling back. With Lucius's sword still in his hand, Julius accidentally cut Cornelius's arm as he fell. The red-haired boy gasped in pain and looked down at the wound, then at Julius, who was still holding the sword.

"Why you –– " growled Cornelius.

"No, dude, I swear I didn't –– " Julius tried to say, but the words were wasted. Ignoring the protests of innocence, Cornelius stomped up to him and shoved him in the chest, sending him stumbling again. Furious, Julius got to his feet, and swung a roundhouse blow at Cornelius. Well, that just about did it.

In the ensuing chaos, Lucius broke free. Scooping up his sword, he charged Petronius. Caught off guard once again, Petronius had no time to lift his own sword, but before Lucius could reach him Caius, with surprising agility and speed, bounded forward with his sword in one hand and a long fighting knife –– which just so happened to be Artemis's, and which he had not gotten from her with her permission –– in the other.

"You're welcome," shouted Caius dryly as he dodged, kicked, and slashed, almost casually in the efficiency of his moves.

Marius, with one of Julius's larger battleaxes in his hand, lumbered towards Petronius, and yet another duel commenced.

Cynthia raised her bow, and aimed at the last opponent left –– Artemis, who was virtually unarmed except for a small throwing knife, which was lowered. But when faced with that silver, razor-sharp arrowhead, Artemis only smiled, leaving Cynthia to figure out the rest. Cynthia read that silent message in her eyes, lowered her bow, approached Artemis, and nodded.

"Ridiculous," she said, referring of course to the chaos before them.

"Absolutely," replied Artemis.

Then, almost as if they had planned it, which of course they hadn't, both girls tilted their heads up, opened their mouths, and let out the loudest, highest, most piercing shrieks they could. Later, Caius could swear that when they screamed, the grass surrounding them actually quivered because of the volume, though he knew that the idea was ridiculous.

All fighting immediately ceased as all six boys turned to the two girls. "WOULD Y'ALL JUST SHADDUP ALREADY?!" yelled Artemis. "Yes. So WHAT if we weren't exactly friends in the past? The only way we're going to get out of this bloody mess is if we stop trying to DECAPITATE EACH OTHER! And if that's not what you want? Stick it in your juice box and SUCK IT UP, because I DON'T CARE. Now drop those weapons –– " Here she glared at each one of the boys, none of whom seemed to want to obey. "DROP THEM!" Immediately they obeyed, none of them wanting to face the wrath of a screaming Artemis. When she saw that they had all placed their weapons down, she nodded, cleared her throat, and said in a much lower and much more civilized voice, "Now, I believe we have something to attend to?" All of the boys exchanged confused glances until Artemis rolled her eyes and prompted, "A dying girl, perhaps?"

Almost instantly everyone was crowded around the fallen Iris, who had dragged herself as far away from the fight and as close to the wall of the Cornucopia as she could. Her eyes were closed, but she was still breathing. But barely. Usually, in a situation like this, Iris would be the one at the side of the bleeding, dying patient. But, in this particular situation, Iris _was_ the bleeding, dying patient.

In the stunned silence, Cynthia lifted her bow and cracked it down on Lucius's shoulder, right on the clavicle. He screamed and crumpled to the ground, but Cynthia was as fast and strong as she was beautiful and had grabbed his arm and pulled him back up. He spun to her, his eyes clear and back to normal, if not surprised and quite annoyed. "What was that for?"

She smirked. "I studied the chemistry of poisons in my elective courses for high school. Not many people know that the effects of _naevlynd_ can be reversed by a sudden and overpowering jolt to a certain nerve cluster."

"What?!" Petronius gasped, but as usual everyone ignored him.

"I can't believe it," stuttered Lucius upon seeing the fallen girl. "What have I done?"

"Well, she's not gone yet," said Cynthia, kneeling next to Iris. "You okay?"

"No," groaned Iris in a voice so soft that even Cynthia had to strain to hear.

"Is anyone else here a healer?" the older girl inquired.

Everyone turned to Artemis, who held up her hands in a mock surrender. "Don't look at me," she said. "I can't stand bloo –– oh, crap." The last two words slipped out when she got a look at the wound in Iris's side, and right before she went a bit faint and fell over. Caius caught her before she could hit the ground, and was the first to realize that the usually calm and collected girl was lingering in a state of fuzzy subconsciousness and mumbling, "Blood…blood…" under her breath repeatedly.

"So she's out," Caius mumbled, then remembered. The control disk. What had happened to it? Panic reigned supreme until he recalled that when he had drawn his sword, he had slipped the disk into his pocket, and now he dug it out. "Artemis! Artemis, snap out of it." When she refused to come out of whatever strange state of consciousness she was in, Caius braced himself, grimaced, and slapped her. Reflexively Artemis shot up and slapped him back, now wide awake. Caius gave her a glare that would send muttattion wolves running behind couches. "Was that really necessary?"

She considered this as she regained her typical wit. "No. But it was really satisfying." She yawned lazily. "What'd I miss…oh. Iris." Her face paled at the last two words.

"The control disk," said Caius, slipping it into her hand. "You have to use it. Get her medicine, or something."

Artemis stared at the control disk like she'd never seen it before in her life. "Actually," she said as her eyes sparked with something familiarly insane, "I have a better idea."

* * *

**Heh. How I love my cliffies. XD**

**Should I update tomorrow?**


	33. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

"Go! Go!" Artemis shouted to the other tributes. "The disk will prevent the Gamemakers from sending anything to keep us in here, but I'm not sure how long until they figure out how to bypass it!"

They all jumped onto the plates, which had not long ago lifted them up into this very arena. Marius, the largest, strongest, and surprisingly gentlest of the eight able-bodied tributes, carried the wounded and subconscious Iris bridal-style. Everyone else had their weapons in hand, which had been Julius's idea. "They might be expecting us," he had pointed out. "We'll show them that we're not about to go down without a fight."

"But only fight if they attack first," Artemis had replied. "I didn't go through all of this trouble just to have you guys get killed by the rebels instead."

Artemis checked one last time that everyone was on a plate. Petronius, check. Cornelius, check. Julius, check. Cynthia, check. A very guilty-looking Lucius who had just gotten another quick but effective verbal beatdown from Cynthia, check. Marius and Iris, check. And Caius… He met her eyes as she glanced his way, nodded once when their gazes locked, and said, "Check."

Artemis forced a smile, and then looked down at her control disk. She couldn't keep her anxious voice from wobbling a bit as she said, "Control disk, activate. Code: _liber. _Confirm." The screen lit up, and she continued: "Voice command: launch plate escape sequence three-point-oh, confirm."

Two counted seconds passed, then the plates under their feet abruptly started to descend. All of the tributes, save Artemis whose control disk illuminated the space, were soon immersed in blackness as they were carried down, down, down. And Artemis herself was occupied with her control disk as she carefully manipulated each icon on the glowing screen. Such a command as the one she was about to commence with was too complicated to use in the basic voice control, so she had to do it manually, and before her plate reached the Launch Room.

Now! She tapped the confirm icon just as her plate stopped its descent, and the door slid open to reveal several dozen armed rebel guards, none of whom looked very happy. Their guns were locked on her as she calmly stepped out of the tube, and one of them barked, "Put down the control disk and hold your hands over your head."

Artemis did so. But after she had placed it on the ground, and when she looked up, all of the guards saw the smile on her face. It was the smile of a wolf, and anyone who had met her before would know that something was very not right about the picture.

At that moment, the world above exploded.

It shook every Launch Room below with the force of a good-sized earthquake, but nothing was damaged. Except for the arena, that is. Because at that moment, everything, and by everything I mean _everything, _that was controlled by the holoboards of the Control Room in the Capitol, immediately exploded. All the cameras, all the land mines, all the hidden traps, all the force fields, all electronic items that were connected to the Control Room simultaneously exploded, therefore destroying the entire arena.

"And that," said Artemis Gossamer as she stood up straight and brushed off her clothes, "is what I was doing in the Control Room the night before the Games began."

* * *

**The Control Room, the Capitol**

To them, it seemed as if everything inexplicably shut down. All of the holoboards, all of the screens, all of the tablets. Everything. Beetee was on it immediately, with a virus scanner in one hand and a scrambler in the other. And within a minute, he came up with the diagnosis: "Virus. A bad one."

"That's it?" bellowed Plutarch Heavensbee. "Just a virus?"

"Not just a virus," replied Beetee. "A bad virus."

"I can _see_ that, Captain Obvious," said the Head Gamemaker through gritted teeth. "What happened with that aforementioned bad virus?"

"It seems," said Beetee, pushing his glasses up his nose, "that the virus is manipulated by an outside source. 'Bad' is an understatement, actually –– this is a _very_ high level virus. It is connected to, like I said before, an outside source, and I think we all know what source that is."

"Artemis's control disk. Which _you_ gave back to her."

"Precisely, and that word applies to both fragmented sentences."

If Plutarch hadn't been preoccupied, he would have interrogated Beetee as to how, why, when, et cetera he gave Artemis back her disk. But he didn't. "So how is it connected?"

"I have determined that this is what she was doing in the Control Room the night that the disk was taken from her –– " here he pushed up his glasses again " –– the soldiers who found her said that she had only the disk on her personage, but not long ago I found a small chip connected to an inlet inside system 9. It had no apparent purpose, so I extracted it. I believe it was the device on which the virus was carried, and so connected to both the control disk and the holoboards in such a way that it would jump to each piece of technology controlled by us, at the same time allowing Artemis to do what she wished with that virus."

"And what does that virus do?"

Beetee gestured to the wall of black screens. "Apparently, it makes things explode."

* * *

**Ex-PLOOOOS-ions! HAHAHA!**

**...what...?**


	34. Chapter 33

**CONGRATULATIONS KRIKANALO! YOU ARE MY 100TH REVIEWER!**

**For your prize, you get…**

**(::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::)**

**COOKIES!**

**Stolen right from Petronius, who thought that I was ignoring him while picking on Caius, hence growing slack in his defense against cookie thieves. ^_^**

**Petronius: (walks into room) Sky, do you know where my cookies went?**

**Me: (hides cookies under table) Whaaaaaaat are you talking about?**

**Petronius: (folds arms) You stole them again, didn't you?**

**Me: Noooooo…oh my gosh look at that! (points at something across the room)**

**Petronius: What? (turns around to look) What is it?**

**Me: (hissing to krikanalo) Quick! Take them! Now!**

**Petronius: (turning back around) I don't see anything…**

**Me: Oh, of course you don't Petro. (grins evilly, but only on the inside so Petronius doesn't see)**

* * *

**Chapter 33**

When Artemis came to, she found that she could not see. Nor could she move her arms or legs, as they were held down by some sort of metal restraints. She was laying horizontally, on a cold, uncomfortable metal platform of some sort. The clothes on her body did not seem like the clothes she had worn in the arena. They were thinner, lighter. A tunic and loose pants were all she could feel, and if she was right, they were cotton. The blindfold around her eyes was stiff, thick, and itchy.

What had happened? The last thing she remembered was standing up after the explosions had abated, and a strange pricking feeling in her thigh. A tranquilizer dart, no doubt. They had knocked her out? Why? She hoped that the others had gotten better treatment, seeing as she was probably the least wounded of the nine. If they had refused to treat Iris's potentially fatal wound, and if the smaller girl had died, Artemis swore on her life that the second they let her out, she would kill the ones who had refused it of her.

She couldn't let any more tributes die. She absolutely would not allow it. Too many had died because of her. Titania, whom she had killed herself. Claudia, who had eaten the nightlock that Artemis had meant to merely be sarcasm. Lystria, who had died while running from the ones that Artemis had inadvertently led to her allies. Romulus, who had been killed by the muttattion spider meant for her. The other eleven, whom she had failed to save. If Iris died because of Artemis's bold masterstroke of sedition, she would never forgive herself or the ones who had let the girl die.

"If you don't tell me where I am and why you have restrained me," she said calmly, her voice cracking from disuse, "I will scream. And I think we all know how loud I can scream."

There were the scuffling sounds of her guards –– naturally, there just had to be guards –– as they realized she was awake, and then silence. Artemis was getting ready to open her mouth and let loose one of her signature screams when she heard a door slide open, and someone walk in. Actually, quite a few someones.

"There are seven of you," said Artemis. "Two guards, judging by the sounds of their boots. Four men in fine shoes, judging by the weight and sounds of your steps. And a woman in heels, but heels no higher than two inches."

"Not bad," said a familiarly cynical voice. "Your deduction skills are as sharp as ever."

"Hello, Mr. Abernathy," she said coolly, as if she was not blindfolded and chained to a metal table. "And Mr. Mellark, Mr. Heavensbee, and Miss Everdeen."

"How did she know?" hissed Peeta to Katniss, who just shrugged.

"Ah, Miss Everdeen," sighed Artemis in the same pleasantly polite tone. "The Mockingjay, the victor of the Seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games, the Girl Who Should Literally Be On Fire. What a pleasure it is to have you come to witness my helplessness."

"How did you know I was here?" asked Katniss.

"It's simple," replied Artemis. "Mr. Abernathy is here, so I deduced that you, since you are one of his few female friends, must have also come. And if you are here, Mr. Mellark must also have come. And Mr. Heavensbee… well, truth to be told that was a blind shot."

"With percentages of…?" inquired Plutarch mockingly, not expecting a real answer.

"Seventy-five or lower."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I reasoned that you would not let Mr. Abernathy, Mr. Mellark, and Miss Everdeen come alone, and that you might like to speak to me about my incident with the control disk."

"Which is exactly why I'm here, isn't it?" said Plutarch. "Now answer your own question, Miss Gossamer."

"It wasn't a question," she said, partially just to annoy them, "it was a statement."

"Just answer," sighed Plutarch. "Why did you destroy the arena?"

"And spare the tributes?" replied Artemis. "Now I have a question for you, Mr. Heavensbee. Can you take off this blindfold and these chains? If you do, I will talk. Amendment: I will talk _about relevant things_."

She heard them muttering for a few seconds, then heard one of the guards walk over and unlock her restraints. Calmly she took off the blindfold, only to shield her eyes from the light with her hand. When her vision adjusted, she sat up and found that she was in a small silver room, with a metal door at one end and a bench on which Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch sat. One of the guards stood in front of the door, the other one stood alert next to Plutarch, who was standing and watching Artemis carefully as she swung her bare feet off the side of the table and attempted to stand. Her legs were undamaged but very skinny and a bit wobbly at first, but then she regained balance, much to her humiliation seeing as there were six people watching her.

"Surely you didn't think that I was any sort of a threat in this condition," she said sarcastically, meeting his gaze and showing her wolf smile. "How long have I been out? Two, three days?"

"Enough," snapped Plutarch. "I want to know why you did what you did."

"And before I answer to that, I also want to know something," replied Artemis.

Plutarch sighed, but this sigh was cut short when he heard her next words.

"Are my allies alive?"

He raised an eyebrow, then nodded.

"All of them? Including Iris?"

Another nod.

"Have they been detained in the same way that I have?"

"For the most part, they are still recuperating. Mr. Angelico we have put in a cell, but have not restrained. The others are being watched but not restricted."

"Release Caius. He had no part in my original plan, and what parts he played anyway were out of his control."

"But what was your original plan?"

"For twenty-four to come out alive, and not merely nine."

There was a nearly palpable silence, during which Plutarch and Artemis were locked in some kind of staredown. _What are you thinking right now, Artemis? _Plutarch mused to himself as he stared into the obstinate young girl's impenetrable eyes. _Possibly of an alibi, or possibly how to present the truth in the right way? No doubt your thought process is far faster than mine. The mere fact that you were able to construct such an advanced piece of technology in under two years proves that much. And that verbal dissection of the Angelico boy as you were debating for the control disk? Absolutely brilliant, if I do say so myself. But I will not tell this to you aloud. No need to inflate your ego any larger._

_I am thinking that you are probably wondering what I am thinking right now, _Artemis reflected. Of course, she did not really know what the man was thinking; she was just deviating off the most probable thing that she assumed he would be thinking, which was in fact the correct case. _Because we are, believe it or not, in many ways that much alike, so as to think very similarly. How would I know this? I do not; as most of my suppositions are, they are suppositions in not only name but absolute essence. For none of my theories have I ever been one hundred percent positive until proof is shown, and for an event such as this I am not capable of acquiring such proof. It is true that often I lie and claim percentages of five percent, or something of that pessimistic nature, when in reality I am over ninety percent convinced of its genuinity. But never in any of my suppositions have I ever been one hundred percent sure. Which is why I did not reveal to the other eight tributes the seventy percent probability that I overdid it with the virus and that the explosions of the technology in the arena would not only completely obliterate the arena but also the Launch Rooms underneath. Nor will I reveal this to Mr. Heavensbee unless absolutely necessary._

"The Seventy-sixth Hunger Games were held to be purely symbolic," said Artemis after that long silence during which they thought the above and much more. "Which makes me wonder –– if it is symbolism, and the symbolism was meant to portray the defeat of the Capitol, what does it symbolize when one tribute takes a stand for what she believes is right, and leads eight others out of the prison their captors have put them in? Who is the villain in this story? The rebels –– ?" She paused here, letting it sink in. Peeta started to nod, until Artemis continued by saying, " –– or the ones who imprisoned them?

"You see, the sides have completely switched. I will say it quite frankly –– _you_ are the Capitol now; _you_ are the ruthless executioners. I did what I had to because I believe that no one else should have to die. You must understand that political views matter nothing in this equation. Nor do the opinions of what 'justice' is to the rebels. At risk of sounding ridiculously clichéd, I will say that what do matter in this problem are the morals."

"Morals," sniffed Plutarch. "As if you would care about those."

Artemis nodded. "I understand that all of us –– all of the tributes of this year's Hunger Games had watched the previous ones without a second thought, even believing them to be exciting and justifiable. Even I, at one point, thought it to be the right thing to do. But now that we know –– we actually know –– what we were watching, I can say for all of us that our views are no longer the same. None of us think that it's fair for us, and I think that if you ask any of the surviving tributes now if they think that the previous seventy-five Hunger Games were right, you will get not one 'yes'. The truth is, Mr. Heavensbee, we can all say, and by 'we' I mean not only the tributes but all of us as a whole, that killing is wrong. Even if it is 'justice' or 'symbolism' or 'revenge', no one deserves to be murdered in such a way. But the question is, Mr. Heavensbee, can you say the same?"

Plutarch was silent for a minute or so as he digested this. "I can," he said after the silence. "You are right in many aspects. But I have yet another question: what will the public think?"

"I also have yet another question," Artemis replied. "There are cameras watching us, are there not?"

"There are."

"Then, if my little speech was enough to sway you, then it should be sufficient for the so-called 'public'. And if they do not agree, then let them come and tell me themselves."

"They won't like it. You'll be in danger."

Artemis nodded understandingly, then turned to Katniss. "Miss Everdeen, you passed a law that protected the other survivors of the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games. The Mockingjay Deal, was it not?"

"Um, yes, but…" said Katniss uncomfortably.

"Then pass another. The Second Mockingjay Deal, if you like, or possibly… the Gossamer Deal. I like that. You have the authority, and if not, the popularity to do so."

Katniss hesitated, then she nodded. "I will speak to President Paylor about it."

Artemis bobbed her head in response, and then turned to the Head Gamemaker. "Is there anything else you wish to say, Mr. Heavensbee?"

Plutarch inclined his chin a few inches, scrutinized the fourteen-year-old girl, and said two words: "Well done."

She cocked her head inquisitively. "Excuse me?"

"Well done, Artemis Gossamer," said Plutarch, holding out his hand. "You have impressed me. Thank you."

Artemis took his hand and shook with surprising strength for one so small. "You are welcome, Mr. Heavensbee," she said. "But I must ask one last question: will my allies and I be released?"

Plutarch hesitated, then turned to the guard and whispered something to him. The guard nodded and exited the room. "Well?" inquired Artemis impatiently after what felt like an endless silence.

"You asked particularly about the Angelico boy," said Plutarch, at which Artemis raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Roberts, let him in." This last command was directed towards the guard at the door, who nodded briskly and opened it to reveal a skinny, slouching figure.

Caius Adrian Angelico found himself being suffocated in a hug. Artemis sure was small –– well, _small_ being very loosely defined, as he was only three inches taller –– but she was surprisingly strong. He could feel her fingers gently tracing the scar on his back, which was easily felt through the thin cotton of his loose tunic. He knew that later, she would have questions for him. And for the first time, he knew that he wouldn't mind telling her.

After a moment's hesitation, he hugged her back.

* * *

**Me: Ha ha.**

**Caius: What?**

**Me: You said you didn't like Artemis and didn't want to fall in love with her. You just hugged her voluntarily. That means you must like her to some extent. You owe me a soda.**

**Caius: *turns very red* Who said I liked her?**

**Me: Come on. Admit it. You enjoyed that hug. **

**Caius: …  
That's beside the point…**

**Me: No it isn't.**

**Caius: Yes it is.**

**Me: No it isn't.**

**Caius: Yes it is.**

**Me: No it isn't. (subtly reaches over and steals blueberries)**

**Caius: Yes it is.**

**Me: (hiding blueberries behind back) You know what? I'm done with this argument. You win. Peace out. (hurriedly leaves)**

**Caius: Huh. That was weird. HEY! WHERE ARE MY BLUEBERRIES?! SKY!**

**Me: *laughs maniacally and runs away with blueberries***


	35. Chapter 34

**Kind of a filler chapter.**

**Meh. R&R anyway.**

* * *

**Chapter 34**

"It was you, wasn't it?"

Caius opened his eyes at the unexpected voice. It was the first time he was able to be alone –– even when he went to the bathroom they watched him carefully, which was really creepy in his opinion –– since getting out of that arena four days ago, and it had just been interrupted by Petronius's annoying mentor.

(Seeing as the above paragraph alone contained at least ten unprintable words because Caius's dirty-mouthed mind is not worthy of a T rating, I shall leave this altered version as it is.)

Katniss Everdeen stood in the doorway to his bedchambers, her bony figure silhouetted by the hallway light and shadowed by the darkness in Caius's room. He preferred it to be dark when he was "meditating", though everyone knew that it wasn't real meditating but instead just sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed and his mind thinking about anything but peaceful and/or studious thoughts. But it was alone time in any case, and when Caius was stripped of his alone time he was usually quite irritated.

But not this time. Five words from Miss Everdeen's mouth had stirred something in him. "What?" he asked.

Katniss entered the room and sat down on the bed next to him. "It was you," she said quietly. "That boy that my sister gave her coat to before she died."

Now Caius was really interested. His eyes were wider than usual. "Your sister?"

Katniss nodded shakily. "Prim. She –– she was a medic for the rebels, and her first mission was with a relief squad. It was on the day that the rebels –– we took over."

A cold chill crept down Caius's spine, running along the jagged scar that was hidden now by a thin white tunic. "Primrose Everdeen," he whispered. "So that's where I had seen her before. The reaping, and then again on the day that all of those children were killed."

"You remember."

"I do remember. That was your sister?"

Katniss just nodded as a tear traced a path down her cheek.

"I'm sorry."

The girl on fire looked up and met his gaze. "No. I'm sorry."

He cocked his head. "For what?"

"You were crying when she gave you her coat. Why were you crying?"

He took a deep breath. A different person would have told Katniss their entire sob story without hesitation. Caius was not that kind of person.

"That bad?" asked Katniss.

Caius braced himself. Might as well get it over with. "You weren't the only one who lost your sister that day." His voice caught in his throat and the invulnerable mask faltered.

The blood seemed to drain completely from Katniss's face. "Oh. I'm –– I'm so sorry, I –– I didn't –– "

He blinked.

That alone shut Katniss up.

The smallest of grins flickered across Caius's face, though it was a sad one. "It's okay. It gives me one less reason to hate you."

Katniss smiled weakly, not entirely sure if this was an offense or a compliment or something otherwise. "Retribution, I guess it could be called."

And at that moment, something clicked between the two victors. Both of them held grudges against the other side, but in that moment these grudges were forgiven and lifted. Caius held out his hand to Katniss, in an attempt to shake hands and seal the silent agreement, but to his surprise Katniss did not accept it. Instead she reached over and crushed the small boy in a hug.

_Seriously, what is it with people hugging me?_ thought Caius's darker side before the lighter side forced his arms up to hug her back.

It was only once they were both locked in the hug did they both hear a girl clearing her throat.

They looked up. Standing in the doorway was Peeta, with his arms folded across his chest, and Artemis, who was slapping a baseball bat in her hands. Neither of them looked very happy.

* * *

The confusion as to what was happening was eventually sorted out, but for a very long time afterwards Peeta and Caius were a bit prickly around each other.

And Artemis made sure to call Katniss "the girl who should literally be on fire" whenever possible.

* * *

**Just read Mockingjay. He's in there. He's not named, nor is he mentioned anytime afterwards, but he's there. Page 347, line 2. "Then, as she yanks off her coat to cover a wailing child…"**

**So in a way, Caius is NOT an OC.**

**Though I do own his appearance, personality, general character, blueberries, et cetera –– agh! Hey! Unhand me you fiend! Untie these ropes NOW!**

**Caius: GIVE ME MY BLUEBERRIES. Then we'll talk.**

**Me: Never!**

**Caius: *glares, then raises knife and my stuffed pig***

**Me: AHH! NO! DON'T!**

**Caius: Give me my blueberries…or the pig dies.**

**Me: *gasps* You wouldn't dare!**

**Caius: *grins maniacally* Killing people is wrong. But I have no qualms against disemboweling stuffed animals.**

**Me: Please don't kill Piggy Wilbur.**

**Caius: Where are the blueberries?**

**Me: …  
Fine! You win! They're in the freezer! Chocykitty told me to put them in there!**

**Caius: I am glad you cooperated –– wait, what? The FREEZER? *checks freezer and pulls out bowl of frozen blueberries* AWESOME! *stuffs face with blueberries***

**Me: Now untie me and let me have Wilbur. You got what you wanted.**

**Caius: Promise not to steal them again?**

**Me: I cannot answer to that promise.**

**Caius: *picks up Wilbur and puts him on my lap* Fine then. *walks away eating frozen blueberries***

**Me: Hey! Wait, where are you going?! YOU DIDN'T UNTIE ME! GET BACK HERE! NOT COOL, DUDE! Hey, this author's note is half as long as the actual chapter…**


	36. Chapter 35

**I laughed so hard while writing this, and for a good reason. XP**

* * *

**Chapter 35**

The ceremony, held a week after the arena exploded to allow their wounds to heal, was unlike any of the others. Instead of one victor, or two, there were nine. The entire thing had to be rethought, like it had been for the nightlock incident.

In the space below the stage, where everyone was still going through their last-minute preps and finishing touches, Petronius waited nervously. More crowds. More cameras. Great. He looked down at his black and blue suit and straightened it. It looked almost identical to the other five boys', except for the blue. Each had gotten a specific color that seemed to correspond with their preferences –– excepting Caius who didn't like colors, in which case his suit was just black and white; also excepting Marius who just had an all-black suit –– and his was blue.

He jumped at least three feet into the air when he felt the hand on his shoulder. "Juno!" he exclaimed when he turned around. He wondered how his stylist was able to sneak up on him like that, and was about to voice the thought when she said, "I guess you didn't hear me over the crowds."

Yes, that was likely. The crowds were very loud as they waited for their victors –– or perhaps targets? –– to emerge. "So, do you know how this is going to work?"

"Oh, it's simple. You'll go up one at a time for the ceremony, and since they're condensing the interviews and the crowning ceremony into one event –– "

"That's…not really what I was talking about. I meant with the rebels. Do you think they'll handle this?"

"Rebels rebelling against rebels?" Juno considered this with a smile. "Of course they will, especially after Artemis publicized the filmed footage of her conversation with Head Gamemaker Heavensbee. And President Paylor passed a law to protect you and the other victors."

Petronius couldn't hide the fact that he was shaking. "I'm… I'm just not sure if it worked," he admitted. "If it didn't, the rebels aren't going to take being defied very well."

"The rebels," Juno repeated thoughtfully. "Petronius, you do know that in this case, _you_ are the rebels?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's as Artemis said. The sides have switched. _You _are the rebels now, not the current controllers of the government. Think about it."

Petronius did, and when it sank in, he looked up and met Juno's big blue eyes. She was so pretty, he realized, and…what had they been talking about? Oh yeah, the rebels.

"Thank you," he whispered. She nodded, straightened his dark blue tie, and strode away.

Petronius watched her until she vanished into the crowds, then exhaled. "Wow," he marveled. And as if in reply, he heard a whistle from behind him and spun around. Caius was perched on a stack of wooden crates as if he had been there the entire time –– how long had he been there, exactly?

"Cute girl," he remarked, absentmindedly fingering his loose black tie. The sleeve of his white shirt peeked out from under his black sports jacket and he tugged at it with his teeth. He caught the eye of Artemis across the room, froze, and then waved with the uplifted hand. She laughed, rolled her eyes, and turned back to her stylist.

Caius kept his eyes trained on Artemis a bit too long but it was obvious why –– Artemis's knee-length and strapless dress, which was mostly black and shimmered with faint rainbows when she moved, outlined her slim, girl-like figure perfectly. Her chin-length hair was brushed out smooth and a shimmery rainbow feather had been braided in on the side. She wore her token, the pearl pendant, around her neck. Her makeup had been done subtly, but so as to make her eyes wide and her smile softer, and with this combination she looked like a much younger, much more innocent girl. Which she definitely was not.

"You're not doing so bad yourself," Petronius replied after watching the silent exchange.

Caius let go of his sleeve and started fidgeting with his limp tie again. The top two buttons of his shirt had come undone, and the bottom was half untucked, but he didn't seem to care. But someone did, apparently, because right at that moment a heavyset, red-haired woman stormed over. "Caius Adrian Angelico, you stop messing up your outfit right this minute!" she bellowed, and Caius audibly groaned.

"But Lyrica, it's so tight…" he protested weakly as she tucked in his shirt, retied his tie, and whipped out a brush and hair gel to fix his hair.

"I won't have you looking like the ragamuffin you did at your interview!" she snapped. "Now hold still, and I'll brush out that spiky mass on your head that you call hair."

Caius mouthed _Help me_ to Petronius, a message of desperation written across his face. Petronius was holding his hand over his mouth in a futile attempt to hide his smile. And it was when Lyrica started applying concealer to hide the bags under Caius's black eyes that Petronius was forced to turn away completely, lest he suffer the thoroughly irate glare that the younger boy was pointing at anyone who dared to glance in his direction.

"A small, sympathetic part of me tells me to help him," remarked Artemis as she approached Petronius, "but the rest of me, the amused part, is having too much fun to agree."

"That's my line," protested Petronius.

At that moment, Lyrica stepped back, revealing the finished product. Caius, or someone who was vaguely Caius's size, glowered at Petronius and Artemis as they stared open-mouthed. The scowl was the only thing that told them that Caius was still there, underneath that layer of civility his stylist had forced upon him –– tucked in and buttoned up shirt, neatly tied tie, brushed and gelled down hair (which was not in the least spiky and completely out of his face), shadowless eyes, and… was that glitter lip gloss?

"Now, you promise to stay nice and neat for the ceremony?" inquired Lyrica, her hands on her hips.

Caius nodded gravely. "I will."

"You won't mess it up?"

"I won't mess it up. I promise."

"Good." Lyrica nodded and sauntered off, bellowing to one of the assistants for him to please get her relaxing herbal tea. Caius sat calmly, watching Lyrica stride away, but the second she was gone he leapt off the crates, darted across the room, snatched a half-empty water bottle from a nearby table, and dove behind the crates. A few minutes later, he emerged, looking as disheveled as before with his untucked shirt, loose tie, tangled bedhead (which was made even spikier than before by the remnants of hair gel), dead eyes underlined with their natural shadows that evidenced lack of sleep, and no lip gloss.

"Aw, you promised her that you wouldn't mess it up," Artemis whined playfully as he approached them, with the now completely empty water bottle in hand.

"I didn't mess it up," replied Caius flatly. "I improved it."

Artemis rolled her eyes and ruffled his hair. "You're insufferable."

"Guys, we have go soon," called Iris, skipping up to them. She looked petite and elfin in her soft yellow, gauzy dress. The enormous, quiet Marius, who had gotten somewhat attached to the tiny girl since he had carried her as she was dying, was by her side. "The ceremony's starting soon."

They followed the very strange pair to the metal plate that would bring them up to the stage. "One at a time, one at a time," a woman called. "All right, all nine of you are here! Let's have Julius Kane first here, yes, good, followed by Cynthia Bell, good girl. And next, Lucius, then Marius, followed by Cornelius. Petronius, come. You're next, and Iris is after you, and then Caius –– ooh, I like your suit! Cute and casual! –– and Miss Gossamer, you are last."

The line moved forward, each victor stepping onto the plate and lifted up to the stage, only for the plate to come down soon after for the next. As Artemis, last in line, stepped onto the plate, she felt a sense of déjà vu as she realized that this plate was no different than the one that had taken her up into the arena.

But unlike the arena, she could not construct a control disk to handle this battle that was about to ensue.

* * *

**Anyone here a Death Note fan? Have you seen that pic of L in a suit? Yup. That's Caius.**

**Second to last chapter will be posted Saturday…**


	37. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

She was beautiful. So beautiful. And so strong, and confident, and…

That was as far as Apollo Gossamer got before breaking down into tears. His Artemis…his own Artemis…had just won the Hunger Games. And she had led not only one but eight others out alive with her. Saying that he was proud of her would be an understatement.

In the cell across the hall, he knew that former Vice President Adrian Angelico was also watching the ceremony on his television, though most likely not crying as he was so shamefully doing. And a few cells down, Avitus Lyre, father of Petronius Lyre, was also watching. As was Aelia Bell, mother of Cynthia Bell; Marcus Waters, father of Marius Waters; and Remus Crown, father of the now deceased Romulus and Lystria Crown.

He turned his teary eyes back to the screen in front of him. His daughter, looking so beautiful in her rainbow-shimmering black dress, sat down in the last vacant chair on the stage, which was next to Angelico's son. Apollo frowned. His captors had forced him to watch his daughter's Games, and he had seen the kiss that was exchanged between the two on that one night. He, of course, did not approve in the least. The girl was two years shy of the betrothal age, by Jove! And that boy, well, even if he had been on Apollo's original list of potential husbands for his young Artemis, he wasn't his first choice. Maybe the seventeenth… no, make that nineteenth; even if Caius was the son of a (formerly) very powerful man, the attorney general's two idiot nephews, it mattered not which one, were better choices when weighed in comparison to the unkempt, insomniac, manner-less, impudent –– he could go on and on for years, given the chance –– boy.

Apollo choked back another sob as his mind wandered and found the bitter memory of the film his captors had shown him. It had been his Artemis, chained and blindfolded to a metal table. At first he had thought that the recording wasn't real, but when Artemis began to speak he knew that it was genuine. No one would be able to imitate her voice and word choice in such a way. And through words did she get out, definitely. She would have made a wonderful lawyer. She had spoken to Plutarch Heavensbee, Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, and Haymitch Abernathy, who had come to question her, about the so-called "justice" of the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games… pride would be too small of a word to describe the feeling that had swelled inside Apollo's chest when he had heard his daughter, so fiery and strong, utter the words that she did.

The ceremony passed without major incident and somehow they managed to wiggle out of watching the highlights of the Games, which was credited mostly to Artemis and her verbal eloquence. But near the end, Caesar decided to bring up a subject which had been popular in conversation as of late. "I am sure that we all know," he said, addressing not only the victors but the watching crowd in general, "that lately our government has been debating what the name of this new nation should be."

This encouraged a small racket among the watchers, some of whom started to shout out their own opinions. Apollo even heard someone yell, "Cheese!"

Caesar managed to quiet the crowd down, and when he did, he turned to Artemis and said, "After the Games ended, we finally came to a decision."

Artemis raised her eyebrow quizzically. "Oh? And what might this have to do with me, seeing as you are clearly pointing it in my general direction?"

"Well," said Caesar dramatically, "I am sure that you will be interested to learn that the nation of Panem shall furthermore be addressed to as the nation of…" insert dramatic pause "…Liber."

There was a collective exhale from the crowd, augmented with immature shout-outs. The victors on the stage, save Artemis, exchanged glances and murmured. Artemis only nodded. "Liber," she repeated. _"Panem et circenses mutare nos pro liberis, videbo?"_

"Excuse me?" inquired Caesar, who was obviously not fluent in Latin.

"We are exchanging the bread and the circuses for the free people, I see?"

"Ahh," he exhaled. "Yes, I see now. And yes, we are. That is a good way to put it. Where did you hear that?"

Artemis stared at him. "Rhonda's Pizza Party Place."

"Really?"

"No, that was sarcasm."

Apollo let out a short, dry laugh. Only Artemis, he mused to himself. Only his daughter would say such a thing.

The interview ended after a few more questions, and President Paylor stepped forward with the crowns. They weren't the gaudy things that they had been in previous years, but rather small, thin circlets. And to Apollo, his daughter, standing among her friends, looked more beautiful than she would have if she had been standing alone and with the most precious jewels in the world resting on her head.

The ceremony came to a close. Apollo's head sank, and a tear fell as some of the words that Artemis had uttered in the arena came back to him. _"Your parents didn't abandon you, and they are not waiting for execution."_

_ "They're in prison!" _the Petronius boy had snapped.

_ "In prison, yes," _retorted Artemis_, "but waiting for release and not their execution, and anticipating the moment they will see you face to face… you have your family to look forward to seeing in the future. You want to get out of the arena to see them again. But Caius and Iris and Romulus and I, we only have ourselves. Ourselves and each other."_

_ But I am here!_ Apollo Gossamer had wanted to yell. Why had she said those things? It was almost as if she had completely ignored him. Why had she said that her parents had abandoned her? Yes, it was true that her mother had left, but Apollo had never left Artemis. At least, he didn't think that he had. Unless…

He remembered that moment when they had first found out about the rebels' assault on the Capitol. He had rushed up to Artemis's room right away to find a battle-ready soldier standing in the doorway. That battle-ready soldier only came up to his shoulders, but the strange fire in her dark eyes was enough to make him wonder where his young, innocent daughter had gone.

"Artemis," he had said to her, "what are you doing?"

She had looked up into his eyes, then down at her bulletproof vest to zip it up. "I'm getting ready."

"Artie," he said, kneeling down and taking the loaded gun from her small hands, "I know you feel so grown up, now that you're almost a teenager, but…"

"Dad," she interrupted, "if they storm the house and get past the guards, you can't fight. Someone has to protect you."

"But who's going to protect _you?"_ he pleaded. "I need to take you down to the safe rooms. I'll stay and defend you."

"Dad, you can't –– " she said, but she was cut off by a beeping noise. "Hang on a sec." She reached down to her belt and slipped a small silver disk out of a pocket. She glanced at it once, then cursed in Latin. "They're coming. They've stormed the gates." Swiftly she manipulated the icons on the screen, then put it back in her pocket. Instantly Apollo heard several loud banging noises from throughout the mansion, and behind Artemis in her room a blast shield slid down over the window.

"What did you do?" he demanded.

"I secured all of the entryways to the doors and windows with a remote that I constructed specifically for a purpose like this," she replied simply. "It'll buy us half an hour, tops. Until then, I have to get you down to the safe room."

"No, _I_ have to get _you_ to the safe room," her father argued. "President Snow has commanded that I meet with him in the vault under his mansion, and I can't bring you."

"So you're just going to leave me at home? By myself? While there's a horde of angry rebels trying to destroy our house?"

"It's all I can do, angel. I'm sorry."

"But Dad, I can –– "

Apollo regretted what he did next. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a tranquilizer pen, and jabbed it into Artemis's arm. The look in her eyes as she fell to the ground told him that what he had just done was unforgivable.

He left her, still unconscious, inside the locked safe room. He had left her weapons and armor on her personage, hoping that if it came to it, Artemis would have a fighting chance. Then, trying to ignore the guilt that gnawed at him, he left.

He had been captured by the rebels shortly after, and had not seen his daughter face-to-face ever since. Now it was understandable to him why Artemis had felt like he had abandoned her. He wondered if he would ever see her again, and when, exactly, his execution was supposed to be.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard the opening of a door. "Which one is Apollo Gossamer's cell?" asked a man's voice from the hallway.

"Right there," another said. "Are they –– "

"They are," replied the first man. "Angelico, Lyre, and the others are next. I just thought that Gossamer might like it first, seeing as… well, you know."

"Yeah," said the second. "Go right on in. But careful."

_Execution time,_ thought Apollo grimly as the many footsteps approached his door. Then the door swung open, revealing two guards, and between them, a young woman in a black strapless dress.

"Dad!" she cried, ignoring the guards and rushing forward.

"Artemis!" he responded, catching her in a hug. "My little girl… oh, I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Dad," she whispered, tears streaking down her face.

"I'm sorry."

This caused her to retreat and look at him quizzically. "For what? Oh," she sighed as she read the answer in his dark brown eyes. "I forgive you. I'm sorry for saying… what I did."

"Artie, what you said made me realize what I did. I'm glad you said it. I'm so proud of you, angel. For everything."

"Thanks, Dad." She smiled sadly. He looked beyond her to the people waiting in the open door. Angelico's son was there, still in his unkempt suit, and watching Apollo carefully. Their gazes locked for a brief second and he saw in the younger boy's black, shadowed eyes a flicker of emotion… regret? Sadness? Apollo was the only one to see the faint, melancholy smile on Caius's lips before the boy hung his head.

"How long do we have together?" Apollo asked Artemis, turning his eyes back to her.

"As long as you want," replied Artemis.

"But the execution –– "

"What execution? You're being released."

Apollo almost could not believe his ears. "Wh –– what? I mean, I'm glad, but… why?"

"I persuaded President Paylor to sign a treaty known as the Gossamer Deal," explained Artemis. "It pardons all of the surviving tributes and our relatives, along with the relatives of the deceased tributes, of all former crimes and releases us. We'll be under close surveillance for a year or so, but we'll be free."

"Artemis…" exhaled Apollo, gazing into his daughter's eyes. Artemis only smiled faintly, then hugged him again. "I love you, Artemis."

She hesitated, then whispered, "I love you too, Dad."

**Aww…father/daughter lovie dovies. Man, I am horrible at these. Tried it with Saige and her dad in Death's Deception and it turned out almost as badly as this one. Sorry for the badly written fluff, but I felt this chapter was really necessary.**

* * *

**Oh! Almost forgot. Cai? Is there something you'd like to say?**

**Caius: *considers this* Not at the moment, no.**

**Me: *whacks him upside head***

**Caius: Ow! Okay, okay, fine. I'll say it. You're welcome.**

**Me: No, you were supposed to say thank you!**

**Caius: We're talking about all of the blueberries I let the reviewers have and didn't disembowel you for, right?**

**Me: No, we're talking about the blueberries that chocykitty persuaded me to give back to you.**

**Caius: WHAT? She –– she persuaded YOU to give them back to ME?!**

**Me: Yeah. And you can thank the other reviewers too, who sympathized with your lack of fruit. But I still ––**

**Caius: THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU! You guys are all awesome! I love you!**

**Artemis: *clears throat* Ahem…?**

**Caius: What? Oh, crap.**

**Artemis: *beats Caius upside the head with Wilbur the stuffed pig* ARE YOU BEING UNFAITHFUL, CAIUS ADRIAN ANGELICO? I WON'T MARRY YOU IF I'M NOT YOUR ONE AND ONLY LOVE!**

**Caius: Ahhh! Not this AGAIN!**

**Me: Hahahaha –– hey, wait! Give me back Wilbur! *jumps into fight wielding my favorite blue pillow***

**Petronius: PILLOW FIGHT!**

**Cornelius: Awesome!**

**Julius: I'm in!**

**Marius: EPIC!**

**Caius: No, wait, guys, NO –– ! *gets squished under me, Artemis, Petronius, Wilbur, Cornelius, Julius, Marius, and a lot of pillows* So…not…cool…**

**Me: That's what ya get for tying me up and not being a grateful character…seriously, how many writers do I know who get held hostage by their own OCs? Plain weird. Just plain weird. Meh.**

**You guys all out there review, okay? Review and enjoy this pretty mind picture of me, Artemis, and Caius being squished under four monstrous tributes, got it?**


	38. Epilogue

**You guys are all awesome and I hope you know that. Have some snacks to eat while you're reading this epilogue. Strawberries, cookies, chocolate bars, and blueberries for you all. :)**

**C3{ C3{ C3{ Strawberries**

**(::) (::) (::) (::) (::) Cookies**

**[][][][] [][][][] [][][][] [][][][] Chocolate bars**

**(*) (*) (*) (*) Blueberries!**

**Me: Any objections, guys...?**

**Caius and Petronius: *exchange glances* Nope.**

**Artemis: You owe me four chocolate bars...**

**Me: Meh. Enjoy the epilogue.**

* * *

**Epilogue**

Time passed.

But of course, time did not heal everything.

Peeta had been right. Time in the arena could batter minds and consciences until they broke. They might not have broken yet, but all feared that with the wrong move, they might.

Countless nights of terror passed.

No one could count the times Marius had held Iris in his warm embrace as both of them wept uncontrollably.

No one could count the times Julius cried out incoherently, howling as the faces of the dead haunted him.

No one could count the times Juno had awoken to hear Petronius screaming for a boy and a girl he had murdered.

No one could count the times Caius had refused to go to bed, fearing what or who he would meet in his sleep.

No one could count the times Artemis caught herself repeating the names of children she couldn't save, as if calling their names for a reaping.

The Games might have been declared as over, but they never really ended. They all knew that now. No amount of medicine, literal or metaphorical, could heal these kinds of scars.

Time didn't heal everything.

Some things just couldn't be healed.

* * *

But some things didn't have to be.

Time passed.

Caius eventually summoned up the courage to ask Apollo's permission, then Artemis's once her father approved. They made a nice pair, the two did, she, the greatest computer technician/hacker of the nation, he, the greatest private investigator that Liber would never know –– because after all, some games were too dangerous to play while wearing your real identity.

Iris and Marius found love with each other. The second the girl turned sixteen, the proper age of betrothal for Capitolian young women, they became engaged.

Juno had been the first to make a move, inviting Petronius out on a date. After three years of making the first moves, Petronius stepped up and did it for her, giving her the ring before she even knew what he was doing.

Julius never married. His friends often found him in his little house in District 12, where he had found a job in construction.

Cynthia and Lucius broke up. She met a former soldier by the name of Gale Hawthorne and found a home in District 2. Lucius spent many of his years in the Capitol, undergoing therapy and working off the side effects of the _naevlynd_.

Cornelius went on to become a chef, and a rather talented yet quite frankly rotund one at that. Oftentimes he and Peeta Mellark would do dinner collaborations, him making the main course, Peeta making the desserts, and Cornelius's girlfriend Juliana making the appetizers. He reached out to the hungry and donated much of his money to help the recovering citizens of the new nation, as many of the better-off survivors also did.

* * *

A new generation came along, bringing joy and innocence and laughter and light along with them. And piece by piece, the broken tributes and the broken country began to be put back together. They would never be entirely whole again –– the scars reminded them that once they had been shattered –– but at least they would be able to stand, look up, and smile again.

Some things can't be healed.

But getting through them, getting through the pain, is easier when there is someone by your side.

Even if that person is as broken as you are.

**The End**

* * *

**Yes! Yes! Yes I did it! You like that ending? That's good, right? I love it! If a book is ever published with that same ending, know who did it. ^_^**

**I want to give a big thank you to everyone out there who followed, favorited, and reviewed. Thanks to krikanalo, chocykitty, CR3ATIV3, ExplodingAaron, TributeAndProud, CatInTheHat57, Dracones, Hello-yello, Chloe BHAFC, SilverLightningDemigod, Adamine Beifong, JBlockman1, A Stargazer's Lullaby, Amially, lovewar66, Seraband, dannnnzzzz, missbookworm13, , Fire Kitty 12, RueThisDay, Harvey Johanson (guest), Hayley Chan (guest), U (guest), Idk (guest), aoife123 (guest), ImmaGuest (I think you can guess), SeekerDraconis23 (guest as far as I can tell), and all those wonderful reviewers under the obviously anonymous name of Guest, who all reviewed at least once. Thanks, guys, I really, really appreciate these. You're all awesome.**

**Now, I have heard your requests regarding a sequel and can truthfully say that I have extensively considered it. Some of you I have spoken directly to as to why, exactly, I am unsure of a sequel's probability of future existence. You know who you are. Basically, I will say that I am out of ideas. I know what the public thinks: that it should have Caiamis, tribute descendants, Caiamis, genius talk, Caiamis, some weddings, Caiamis, lots of action and angst, and Caiamis. But really, what else? What plot? Hunger Games is not really a fandom where you can throw in a random antagonist during a declared state of peace, especially when there is a canon epilogue set 20 years after the end of the book clearly stating that there has been peace ever since. See, maybe if the characters and the setting had not been so infernally human, so realistic, then maybe I could throw in some immortality-obsessed alchemist or a dark lord with plans of world domination, but you can't do that in Hunger Games fandom, can you? Sadly, no. *sigh***

**However, I am not done with this fic. I have spent altogether too many of my pathetic socially-lifeless hours slaving over it and I am not ready to let it go yet. Maybe I'll do a few oneshots, maybe a mini story about the kids, maybe even a chapter or two in Night Whispers (which I am so sorry to have put on hiatus; I just got lazy, okay?). Maybe someday I'll come back and rewrite this whole stupid thing. I just don't know. You guys have some really awesome ideas and I want to use them, just to see where they'll take me. If you have any more, I'm open.**

**I can't believe I'm here, I really can't. Two stinking years of compiling all of this into this grand masterpiece and what do I have to show for it? A _freaking 136 reviews,_ that's what! Sooooooooo awesome...thank you guys so so so so so so so so so so so so_ so much!_ XD**

**Commence in shutting up and ending my infernally long author's note.**


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